


Harry Potter and the Eversion of Magic

by Malebron



Series: Sirius, Rising. [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Department of Mysteries, Family, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 83,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5397047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malebron/pseuds/Malebron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://s4.photobucket.com/user/jesdavies/media/eversion%20640x103.jpg.html"></a><img/><br/>Nearly eleven years have passed since Harry defeated Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts. Life for the youngest Head Auror ever appointed is busy and chaotic but it’s good. But not everyone in the wizarding world is so content. Azkaban prison is in crisis and there are stirrings of unrest. The theft of a mysterious artefact from the Department of Mysteries sets a new adventure in motion…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Some One Intent on Mischief

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by StarFeather’s ‘Auror’s Tale’challenge over on HPFF, the task was to write an Auror story featuring Harry Potter, which had to include mystery and action mixed with romance. The specific criteria I was given was that the story had to begin in the Ministry of Magic in London. Seven months later, (and three months after the challenge closing date!), this is what I ended up with.

** Chapter One: Some One Intent on Mischief. **

 

Beneath the government offices of Whitehall and the foundations of medieval abbeys, Saxon churches, and Roman temples, the Tube, and the lost rivers of London, is the Ministry of Magic. It is the place where the forefathers of the wizard race hid the Veil and other mysteries besides, and it is where many things may be found for those who know where to look.

For those who do not know where to look, however ‒ or perhaps have only a vague idea and imprecise instructions ‒ it can be more problematic. Especially if those who do not know where to look have no business being there in the first place.

The two shadowy figures who, in the darkest hours of a cold night in late winter had bypassed the wards guarding the Muggle research section of the Ministry archives, were not supposed to be there, and did not know where to find what they were looking for. One figure was a great deal larger than the other, but it was the smaller of the two who was, with every sign of impatience, issuing instructions in a sibilant whisper. A sphere of orange light hovered between them, casting a sickly glow just bright enough to make out the text written on the documents before them.

The larger figure was grumbling, “Bloody books. Bloody stupid, mouldy old things!” With careless annoyance, he tossed papers and volumes off the shelves and on to the table, from where many of them slid, disregarded, to the floor.

“Read them!” hissed the smaller figure. “Read what they is saying!”

The large figure paused in his efforts. “Read?” he asked. “Half this stuff isn’t even written in bloody English. You read it.” He thrust an armful of papers at his small companion.

“Stupid wizard!” it muttered shrilly. “Wizards read wizard writing!”

In resentful silence, the search continued without apparent success, and after some time, the pair were joined by two men. One of these was tall and thin and sniffed a lot; the second leaned against a table, gasping.

 “We have it!” said the tall man, lifting before him something about the size of a shoe box, wrapped in a cloth. “Have you found the book?” He cast a glance around at the chaotic mess of papers and stiffened. “Have you no respect? Move aside! I will find it myself.”

No one argued with this suggestion; indeed the biggest of the four people in the room gave an audible sigh of relief. With care, the tall man put his parcel down on a table and began systematically to sift through the disordered papers, ignoring the impatient tutting of his diminutive colleague. After several minutes, he uttered a grunt of satisfaction, holding a thin volume up. “Ah, I have it!”

The man leaning on the table had caught his breath. His speech was heavily accented and hoarse. “Hurry, now. We are here too long. It is time to go.”

The tall man began to collect the papers strewn in untidy drifts on the floor and table but the breathless man interrupted him. “No time for that! We leave now!”

 

* * *

 

Several hours later, a chilly grey Monday morning took shape across the flat Cambridgeshire landscape. Inside a modest house set discreetly behind thick, high hedges, Harry Potter sat at the table in his untidy living room and aimed a spoonful of porridge towards his youngest son.

“Brum, brum! Look at the flying motorbike!”

“No!” said Albus, pressing his lips together in a determined line.

“Lovely porridge,” Harry encouraged. “Yum, yum! Look, Daddy loves porridge!” He ate the spoonful himself, finding it surprisingly palatable, and dipped the spoon back in the bowl. “The motorbike wants to go into the tunnel. Open the tunnel for the motorbike, Albus!”

Albus looked at him, stony faced and unmoved.

Absent-mindedly, Harry ate the next spoonful too. “Gin, do you think we should be worried about Albus?”

She looked up at him from where she was nursing Lily on the sofa. “Worried? Why?”

“Well, he should be talking by now, shouldn’t he? The only thing he ever says is ‘no’.”

Ginny was thoughtful. “I think he can talk, he just chooses not to. He doesn’t need to, James does it all for him.”

“Anyway, I’ve eaten all my breakfast, Daddy!” piped James, as if on cue. “Can I play with my Lego now, Daddy, please, Daddy?”

Harry yawned and rubbed the scar on his forehead, realising with dismay that he had just smeared porridge into his hair.  “I suppose so, James. Go on then.”

Ginny unlatched Lily from her breast and switched sides. “Mum says Ron was the same. He just let the twins do all his talking for him until he was nearly four.” The letter box rattled. “That will be the Prophet,” she said, “Have you got a hand free, Harry?”

Harry wiped porridge from his fingers and pulled his wand out of his pocket. “ _Accio, Prophet!”_

The paper swept through from the doormat and landed in the bowl in front of him. He groaned and fished it out, dabbing at the back page. “Sorry, Gin,” he said, “there’s porridge all over the Quidditch results.”

“Anyway, Mummy,” said James, looking up from his toy box. “Daddy’s got porridge on the Quidditch.”

“So he has, pet,” agreed Ginny. “Anything in it, Harry?”

He glanced at the front page. “The Confederacy Liberatum people have had another demonstration apparently. Listen to this. _‘The demonstration in Knockturn Alley was addressed by the activist known as ‘Amo’, who reiterated the group’s demands of universal equality for magical and non-magical folk and an end to discrimination. The gathering was sparsely attended and concluded earlier than planned when a pig, destined for Mrs Miggins’ pie shop, escaped and ate part of the speaker’s hat.’_ That lot are bonkers. Do you know, a few months ago they used a flock of gannets to shower their daft leaflets all over Azkaban? Bonkers,” he repeated.

Harry scanned further down the page and did a double-take. “Oh bloody hell,” he murmured. “They’ve only gone and bloody done it!”

“Oh bloody hell,” repeated James.

Ginny tucked a struggling Lily over her shoulder and patted her back. “Don’t say that, James darling.”

“Why, Mummy?”

“Oh, because it’s a bad word, James. Done what, Harry?”

“Here,” Harry said, “I’ll take Lily. Have a read.” He passed the newspaper over and took Lily, bouncing her on his knee. She gurgled and burped. Believing himself unobserved, Albus proceeded to feed himself the remainder of his breakfast. Harry pretended not to notice.

“Why is ‘ _bloody hell’_ a bad word, Daddy?” asked James.

“Ah, you’d better ask Mummy.”

Ginny gave him a baleful glance and read the headline aloud. _“‘Azkaban announces amnesty. Early release of prisoners confirmed. Our sources have established that two more prisoners were released from Azkaban prison last week on compassionate grounds, due to ill health. Both men are said to be in the final weeks of life. Those released are believed to be Antonin Dolohov and Myklos Z –Z ‒_ something. Zmyslony? _This release follows the freeing of former Death Eater_ \- I can’t read this, it’s smudged. _E_ \- something, _P_ -something, Pringle, maybe?   _last month._ ’”

“Mummy, why‒”

“James, darling, Mummy and Daddy are trying to talk.” She looked up. “Did you know about this Harry?”

“I heard a rumour,” he admitted. “But I didn’t think they’d actually do it. Azkaban is in crisis. It desperately needs a new governor. It’s overcrowded and morale is terribly low.”

“I hope they know what they’re doing,” said Ginny. She tapped the paper with the back of her hand. “They say these are low risk, but Dolohov? They should have let him rot in his cell. I’ve never heard of the other one.”

“Well,” said Harry, leaning over and pointing at a grainy picture that scowled out from the page. “This Myklos Zmyslony. I don’t know much about him, but he was notorious back in the day. He was an accomplished ward-breaker and the leader of a gang that broke into the _Securus_ goblin bank in Rome. They managed to escape with millions of Galleons’ worth of Vatican gold. It was pure luck that he was caught trying to rob the Ministry vault at Gringotts in 1978. He very nearly succeeded. He’s been in Azkaban for over thirty years.”

There was a rap at the window, and they looked over to see a handsome tawny owl perched on the sill. Ginny got up to open it, and took the letter from the bird’s leg. “It’s for you,” she said. “From the Ministry.” She tossed it over to him. Ginny gave the owl a piece of cold toast, and it flew away, flapping up into the overcast sky for a few seconds then flickering out of sight.

Harry unrolled the letter. “It’s from Kingsley,” he sighed. “He wants me to go in to work today. There’s a Situation, apparently. Sorry Gin, I’ll have to go.” He handed Lily back to her and dropped a kiss on both heads. Then he kissed Albus and James, and went to find his robes and some Floo powder.

*****

 

Twenty minutes later, he arrived in the Ministry and walked to Kingsley’s office picking dried flakes of cereal from his hair. Percy Weasley was busy with a stack of papers on a desk outside a large and splendid door that bore the title _‘Minister of Magic’_ painted upon it in important gold letters.

“The Minister has asked to see me, Percy?”

“One moment, Auror Potter, I will tell him you’re here.” Percy’s manner was even more stiff and formal than usual, but Harry did not pay much attention. Percy knocked and peered round the door for a moment. He re-emerged. “The Minister can see you right away.” He held the door open while Harry entered.

Kingsley was seated behind his huge mahogany desk. Harry was surprised to find his father-in law there too, sitting in a chair opposite.

“Ah, Harry!” beamed Arthur, getting to his feet and shaking Harry’s hand. “How is my gorgeous daughter this morning? And my exceptionally gifted grandchildren?”

“Hi Dad,” said Harry, “they’re good. Covered in porridge, but good. Lily’s nearly walking. Albus still won’t talk. James never stops. How are you and Molly? Have you seen much of Ron and Hermione?”

“Ron, yes,” said Arthur. “In fact, he’s here today, but,” his face dropped, “not Hermione or the children, really. Haven’t seen Hermione since Christmas, in fact. Have you seen them?

“Ah, no,” said Harry. “Ron brought Rosie over for tea a couple of weeks ago, but he said Hermione was too busy to come.”

“Between you and me, Harry, we’re a bit worried. Perhaps you could speak to Ron later?”

Kingsley waved Harry into the remaining seat. “If you’ve finished catching up with your family news? Thank you for coming in, Harry, I know you were supposed to be having a day off.”

A copy of the Prophet lay on Kingsley’s desk and Harry picked it up. He pointed at the article on the front page. “Is this about the released prisoners?”

“Not directly,” Kingsley’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Maybe he was being fanciful, but Harry had the impression that beneath the serene façade, Kingsley was furious. His tone, however, was as calm and measured as usual. “The decision to release Dolohov was not mine. He has always been regarded as rather, ah, volatile.”

“Surely, as Minister of Magic, you can veto these decisions?”

“In theory, yes. If I am consulted. Which, in this case, I was not. Although in fairness, Azkaban has far worse problems than the early release of terminally ill and frail prisoners.” 

“Oh? Is there something I should know about?”

“Nothing you aren’t already aware of, I’m sure. You must have read Hermione’s report?”

“Hm,” Harry mumbled evasively.

“Harry, I did not ask you to come in today to discuss that. There is another matter closer to home.” Kingsley twisted his earring. “We’ve had a break-in.”

Shocked, Harry stared at him. “What? Here at the Ministry? I haven’t heard anything!”

“Neither had I,” said Arthur, “until Kingsley called me in here.”

The Minister folded his arms and leaned back in his chair looking at them, his gaze inscrutable. “We had rather the whole world didn’t know the Ministry is not exactly the impregnable fortress it should be, and nothing of particular importance seems to have been taken. Although I say that with some caution, as no one seems to know very much about the only thing we have positively identified as being missing.”

Harry waited for more. Arthur looked perplexed. “So what is missing? Which department was broken into?”

“Departments, plural. One break-in was in the archives and the other in the Department of Mysteries. The Time Room to be exact.”

“The Department of Mysteries!” said Harry. “But how – surely security is good down there!”

Kingsley’s lips tightened. “Not good enough, clearly. The wards haven’t been updated for years. Having said that, they were powerful, if rather old-fashioned. There is only one person I know of with the expertise and initiative to bypass them so efficiently. He was released from Azkaban a week ago.”

Harry groaned and put his head in his hands. “It’s one thing after another, isn’t it? The Ministry is falling apart.”

Kingsley did not disagree. “There is a lot of work to do, certainly, and I’m afraid much of it will fall on your shoulders. But for the time being, we need to deal with what is before us.” He stood up, shaking out his glossy indigo robes. “Let’s go and talk to Hector.”

Even though Harry had to visit the Department of Mysteries from time to time, he still got goose pimples as he moved through the familiar corridors. After nearly thirteen years, the image of Sirius falling behind the Veil and the look of shock on his godfather’s wasted face as it happened was never far from his thoughts and featured often in his dreams. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to think about the more urgent issue, as he followed Arthur and Kingsley into the lift that rattled and juddered down into the deepest level of the Ministry.

The Time Room did not appear to have changed in any way in the intervening years. Harry remembered the noise of all the ticking clocks, insistent and itchy, like an irritation creeping under the skin. At the far end of the room still stood the huge bell jar, as tall as a man, illuminating everything with a sharp, dazzling light. In the middle of the chamber, a fragile looking elderly man was wringing his hands in distress and muttering under his breath.

“Hector,” said Kingsley, “I have brought the head of the Aurors’ Department down to speak with you.”

“Have we a new head?” said the old man. He peered up at them. “Arthur? You aren’t an Auror!”

“Not me, Hector,” said Arthur gently, “Harry, here.” He pushed Harry forward.

Hector squinted at him. “Oh yes, You’re Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. So you’re an Auror now. What are you going to do about this, then?” He waved his hand around.

“They have taken something from here?”

“Of course they have,” said Hector impatiently. “Why else would you be here? Look!” He pointed with a shaking finger. Harry’s gaze followed the direction and landed on an evident empty space amid the clutter on one of the crowded tables.

“So what exactly did they take?”

“Well,” Hector was nearly in tears. “The Eversio machine of course!”

“The Eversy‒what?”

Hector looked at him in annoyance. “Are you sure you are qualified for this job? The Eversio machine. You might know it as the Antikythera machine?” He shook his head at Harry’s uncomprehending expression and turned a watery gaze to Kingsley. “What do they teach them at school these days?”

Harry resolved not to ask again. Perhaps he would have a word with Hermione later, if he could get hold of her.

“So.” He decided to try a different tack. “Why have they taken it then? Er, what does the, er. . . machine do? It is some sort of clock presumably?”

“Well we don’t know, do we? Obviously! It’s a mystery. The Muggles have a fragmentary one they keep in a museum. I understand they believe it to be some sort of astronomical device,” he gave a derisive laugh, “but this one is complete! When I had an apprentice-” he looked accusingly at Kingsley, “he spent a great deal of time working on it. But since Erasmus left, no-one has touched it.” Hector’s voice took on a note of complaint. “I’m an old man. I should have been given a new apprentice. I’m tired.”

Harry was tired too, and his head was starting to ache.

“Well,” said Kingsley, “whoever took it, they knew exactly what they were after and why. I just wish we knew, too. It makes me very uneasy, not knowing.”

Harry shared that unease. “I assure you, Hector, we will leave no stone unturned in our endeavours to catch the culprits,” he said, aware that he sounded rather self-important. For a horrible moment he had reminded himself of Percy.

He turned to the Minister. “So what about the other break-in? In the archives. What did they take from there?”

“Let’s go and take a look. It appears no-one knows what was taken. If, indeed, anything was. Thank you Hector, I’m sure Harry will be back to speak to you again soon.” Kingsley looked expectantly at Harry who muttered a hasty agreement.

The three of them took the lift up to the third level of the Ministry. “So,” said Harry, “how can they not know what was taken from the archives?”

 “It is a rather little-used section of the department. That is why I wanted you here, Arthur.” Kingsley opened a door and ushered them through. “It was in the Muggle research section. Specifically, a collection of documents deposited at the end of the seventeenth century. The material has been left in a great deal of disorder and no-one knows what has been taken, because no-one seems to know what was there in the first place. The system of cataloguing here is . . . shall we say . . . incomplete? Arthur, you were probably more familiar with it. I want to know if you notice anything missing.” He led them through another door into a long room lined with shelves and cabinets stuffed with books and ledgers, piles of papers, stacks of files and rolls of parchment.

The three of them looked about the room. One area was in complete disarray. Books, papers, and parchment rolls were scattered over the desks and floor. A few loose sheets drifted from a shelf as their entry stirred the air.

Arthur shook his head in hopeless bewilderment.  “To be honest, Kingsley, I hardly ever even came down here. The only person I can recall who ever used that material was . . . well, you know. She was so capable, I generally left her to it.” His voice dropped. “I wondered what had happened to her after ‒ you know.” he looked askance at Harry who listened, burning with curiosity, though he tried to appear uninterested. 

Arthur spoke quietly to Kingsley, and Harry had to strain to hear.

“She must have been terribly upset when Sirius died. It seems unfair for us to have abandoned her just because she was a Muggle. But I even went to her flat a few weeks later, and someone else was living there. She had left no forwarding address.”

Kingsley stroked his chin thoughtfully but said nothing.

Arthur looked curious. “Do you know something, Kingsley?”

Kingsley tapped his knuckle against his lips. “See that the door to the department is sealed, will you Arthur? And don’t let anyone else in until we have assessed the situation properly.”

The lack of an answer did not escape either Arthur or Harry. Arthur raised his eyebrows, but said nothing beyond, “I’ll get to it right away, Kingsley,” before heading towards the head archivist’s desk.

Harry and Kingsley left Arthur in charge of securing the area and went back up to the Minister’s office.

“What was that about?” said Harry, shutting the door behind them and leaning on the frame, his arms folded. “Who was that woman you were talking about, and what did she have to do with Sirius?”

“Her name was Julia Fenwick.” Kingsley sat down at his desk, and nudged his computer mouse. The screen flashed into life. He hesitated for a few seconds then tapped something in to the keyboard. He looked up at Harry. “Email,” he said. “Much more efficient than owls.”

Harry was astonished. “I thought Muggle technology didn’t work around magic!”

“We’re a resourceful race, on the whole,” said Kingsley. He flicked a little tangle of silver wires that rested at the side of his laptop screen. “Wizard magic and Muggle electricity are not entirely incompatible ‒ with a little modification.” He grinned at Harry, his teeth bright against his brown skin. “I’ll be in touch.”

The dismissal was clear and Harry left, shaking his head in frustration. Deep in contemplation, he began to make his way back to the entrance lobby.

 

*****

 

“Harry! Hey, Harry wait up!”

Surprised from his thoughts, he looked around to see Ron gesticulating at him from some yards away. He caught up, panting slightly “Hey, mate, how are you doing?”

“Oh not so bad, Ron. How’s yourself?”

“Ah. Have you got a few minutes, Harry? Do you fancy a drink?”

Harry glanced at his watch. “It’s a bit early, but sure, I don’t have to rush off. Fancy the Leaky Cauldron?”

Ron looked relieved. “Good plan, let’s go!”

 

*******

 

The lighting in the pub was dim, but not so much so that Harry did not notice Ron was looking tired and anxious. His gangly frame had developed something of a droop and he had several days growth of ginger stubble on his chin. He flopped onto a stool while Harry went to the bar and bought two pints of beer.

“Come on, Ron,” he said putting the glasses on the table and sitting down opposite his friend. “Something’s up isn’t it? What’s the matter?”

Ron took a long gulp of his beer, draining half the glass. “I needed that,” he said with a sigh. Harry waited.

“It’s not me,” said Ron. “It’s Hermione.”

Harry racked his brains in an attempt to remember when he had last seen her. Sometime before Christmas, he thought, guiltily. “Hermione! What’s up with her?”

“Bloody hell, Harry, I don’t know! She’s been, well . . . miserable, ever since Hugo was born. And I don’t know why, Harry, there’s no reason for it. We’re all right for money, everything should be fine. But she just isn’t happy.  She won’t even let my mum look after the kids to give her a break. It’s as if she can’t let anyone else help.” He paused, and his tone changed slightly, becoming rather wooden and detatched. “The emotional challenges and loss of self and identity have been difficult for her to cope with. She may have difficulty in adjusting to the changes in her body and relationships and the loss of control over her own life that comes with the responsibility of having a family. She is afraid of losing control, but too proud to ask for help. All her energy goes into caring for the children but she is isolated and neglects herself. She feels she can’t live up to her own expectations of herself as the perfect mother.”

He stopped and gazed anxiously at Harry, who blinked in surprise.“Blimey, Ron, that’s very insightful. I wouldn’t have expected that sort of clinical analysis from you.”

Ron was glum. “That’s because it’s not mine. I’m just repeating what Fleur says.”

Harry tried not to laugh. “Can’t you speak to her mum?”

“We don’t get on. Jean doesn’t like me very much.”

“Do you want me to talk to Hermione?” Harry asked. “Although she never listens to me either, you know.

“Would you, Harry? I’m at my wits’ end. I don’t know what to do.”

“Leave it with me, Ron,” said Harry. “I’ll pop round in the next few days.I wanted a word with her about something else anyway.”

“You’re a mate,” said Ron getting to his feet and slapping Harry on the shoulder. “Maybe she’ll talk to you.”

Harry doubted it, but added a diplomatic visit to Hermione to an extensive mental list of things he really did not want to do. Then, feeling rather unsettled, he went home.

 

* * *

 


	2. If Cause Were to Unfold

** Chapter Two: If Cause Were to Unfold. **

At the end of the nineteenth century, the building – as chance would have it, placed almost in the centre of the country – had been a water pumping station. Built at a time when industrial buildings were expected to be elegant and majestic, its great chimney stood well over a hundred feet tall. Infrequent passers-by, surprised that they had never noticed it before, expressed amazement at its longevity, and facetiously declared a belief that it was held together by magic. They would surely have been astonished to know that they were quite right ‒ if they could only remember its existence long enough to care.

One end of the engine house had partially collapsed and half of the gable wall lay in a pile of bricks with desiccated weeds seeded among them. The roof of the long structure sagged where the central ridge had broken in the middle and slates had fallen from the battens. Much of it was little more than a shelter for swallows in the summer, but they would not return for a month or more.

A deep channel ran the distance of the structure’s long central chamber, and still housed within it a gigantic beam. In the middle of the dusty cavern rested a huge wheel, immobile, rusty and long since seized.  Half was below ground level and the other half, twice the height of a man, above.

In a cheerless room that led off from this chamber, several figures were engaged in a heated discussion. One of them was a rather lanky man with an anxious and careworn face framed by limp brown hair, wearing spectacles that slipped repeatedly down his long nose. He was seated at a makeshift table on which were arranged a number of small tools, a tattered and ancient looking book and a complicated clockwork contraption of cogs and wheels into which he was delicately, and with precision, squeezing oil from a bulb attached to a long, slender spout.

A small figure exhibiting clear signs of annoyance stood on an upturned box at his side.

“What does you mean? It is not having its switch?”

The man sniffed and pushed his glasses up. “It fits in here,” he placed a finger on the mechanism, “when it is not being used. But it’s not here now. It’s missing,” he added unnecessarily. “But the good news is that the machine seems to be in perfect condition otherwise. Although we can’t test it without the switch, evidently.” He gazed about with apparent optimism, but the other occupants of the room were unimpressed.

A thin, sharp featured man with dark hair and eyes and sunken cheeks spoke, his hard voice laced with sarcasm. “The question then, surely, is where is this - key? Who else knew about it? Hm? Who did you tell?”

“No-one! I told no-one. No-one was interested! Only ‒” he swallowed nervously “‒ perhaps I might have mentioned it to my cousin, once.”

“Your cousin.” The statement was flat, but heavy with scorn.

The lanky man was defensive. “He was interested! He wanted to know about my work! But he would have had no reason to tamper with the machine!”

“No?” The thin man smiled, revealing stained brown teeth. “If you say so. We all know who your cousin was, after all. Then who else might have taken it, do you think?”

“I . . . I really can’t say.”

The questioner put his fists on the table and leaned down until his face was just inches from the seated man who grimaced in fear and distaste and tried unsuccessfully to lean away until he was in danger of overbalancing.

“Just suppose. For a moment. That it was indeed your cousin who took it. Where might he have hidden it?”

“I don’t know! How can I? He’s eleven years dead!”

“Quite so. Eleven years dead. So where do you think he might have taken this – key? How about to his mother, maybe?”

“His mother? You mean my auntie?”

“You can call her whatever you like. I happen to know he visited her although he liked to keep it a secret.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because even though the Dark Lord trusted him, I did not! I followed him once and I can find the place again!”

He straightened up, took something out of a pocket, twisted a small piece off, put it in his mouth and started to chew.  “We should not delay. We must locate the key. You!” He pointed to a bulky man who was unsuccessfully attempting to be inconspicuous behind a brick pillar.

“Me?”

“Yes, fool. You. Come with me. We should not lose any time. We will find the old woman!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the first few years after Sirius’s death, Harry had dreamed almost every night of the moment he had watched his godfather fall back into the veil, his expression changing from laughter to shock, the eyes wide and unseeing. In Harry’s dreams, sometimes Sirius did not fall; sometimes he walked away from the veil, carefree and laughing. But always, Harry woke with a cold and bitter sense of loss. Over time, the dreams had grown less frequent and the image fainter, but for some reason, tonight it came back. Perhaps it was a result of the cryptic conversation he had partly overheard, and Kingsley’s enigmatic manner, but when Harry had woken himself with a shout and Ginny had complained at him in her sleep, he was restless and wakeful, and eventually he got up and went downstairs.

He sat in the quiet sitting room thinking, until gradually, without him noticing, the darkness gave way to another cold, grey morning. At last he stirred himself, made a pot of tea and took a cup upstairs to Ginny. He leaned over to give her sleeping face a kiss. In the room next door Lily started to grumble. He went in to her, lifting her from her cot and pressing his face into her little neck; breathing in the warm, vibrant smell of her for several seconds, before he changed her nappy and carried her in to Ginny.

“Come on, gorgeous.” He nudged his wife into semi-wakefulness.

“I’m still asleep,” she grumbled, without opening her eyes.

“I know you are,” he agreed, “sit up.” He tucked a couple of pillows behind her so that she was more or less upright, and put Lily into her arms to feed. As soon as Lily latched on to Ginny’s breast her eyes dropped shut again. Harry tucked the quilt around the two of them and went back downstairs.

While he had been making the tea, a new edition of the _Quibbler_ had been delivered. He picked it up from the mat and made himself comfortable in an armchair.

‘ _Confederacy Liberatum’_ it said in bold letters at the top of the page. Below the title was drawn an emblem comprised of an ornate ‘CL’ monogram entwined under a leafy tree and beneath that a ribbon with the motto ‘ _Militares pro Justicia’._

He looked over the article. ‘ _Confederacy Liberatum’_ , he read, _‘grows weary of being patronised and fobbed off at every opportunity. Our approach has been gentle and patient, our demands modest and reasonable. Yet the undemocratic leaders of the Wizarding world fail to lead us to the brighter future they promised. They wish to maintain the corrupt status quo, convinced they are untouchable and unwilling to recognise that the world around has changed. The disadvantaged bear an unfair burden while the wealthy and powerful sit in smug complacency on their gilded thrones, safe in their ancestral manors._

 _In helplessness, all are equal. Be warned!  
_ _Behold! The dawn of strength and valour wakes ‒  
_ _A growing storm of righteous anger falls!  
_ _The patience of the slumb’ring Warrior breaks,  
_ _And lo! The voice of Just Rebellion calls!’_

Harry blinked in complete incomprehension. Under the verse, it said ‘ _Article written by ‘Amo’_.

Knowing himself to be a part of the smug and complacent establishment and feeling an uncomfortable prickle of conscience, Harry shoved the paper under the sofa out of sight and finished his tea. He was contemplating washing the pile of dishes that had accumulated in the kitchen sink when there was a knock at the front door. Harry jumped, not sure if he had really heard it. Unexpected visitors were a rarity. Friends and relatives tended to arrive by Floo, and the house was well screened with concealment charms so it was generally unnoticed by Muggles, unless specifically invited ‒ which, as a rule, they weren’t.  It was also a distinctly uncivilised time of day.

There was another unmistakable knock. Harry went to the door and opened it, grimacing as his hand came away from the knob sticky with jam. A small, middle-aged woman wearing a Muggle leather jacket and jeans was standing on the step.

“Hello,” she said, giving him a bright smile. “Are you? – well, of course you are! I recognise you. We’ve never met before, of course. You’re a bit taller than I expected, I must say.”

Harry knew there was a house a couple of miles away that provided supported accommodation for people with learning disabilities. He scanned the path behind her, but could not see anyone else and wondered if this peculiar woman had become separated from her carer.

“You’re Harry Potter.”

She knew his name. How did she know his name? He felt a surge of irritation. Where was Ginny? Women were much better at this sort of thing. He tried to probe the woman’s thoughts and was astounded when she blocked him immediately. A look of distaste crossed her face.

“Don’t do that, please,” she said. “You’re out of order, and it feels disgusting.”

“Oh. Sorry,” he said weakly. Why was Ginny still in bed when he needed her?

“Not to worry,” she said. “Not your fault. I know ‒ ah, knew ‒ your godfather rather well.”

“Sirius? You knew Sirius?” He had the sensation of the floor sliding under his feet and grabbed hold of his wand for support.

“I do – did. That’s why I’ve come. Partly. My name is Julia. Julia Fenwick?” She held her hand out. Automatically, he took it and saw surprise cross her face. Her smile became fixed.

“Ah.” He was embarrassed. “Sorry. Jam.”

She furtively wiped her hand on the leg of her jeans. “I thought Kingsley had spoken to you?”

“Oh!” his mind cleared. “Yes. Of course! You worked for Arthur in the Ministry back when . . . you know.” He tailed off. Even after all this time, he had difficulty talking about it.

He considered the woman again. She seemed pleasant enough, but unremarkable. A woolly knitted hat with long ear flaps and a scarf wrapped several times around her neck obscured part of her face, so he could not see much of her.

“Yes, that’s right. Did Kingsley tell you anything else?”

Harry shook his head.

“Right. Ah. There’s someone you need to see. Will you come with me for a minute?”

He must have looked doubtful.

“I’m harmless, I promise.  I’m only a Muggle and you’re an Auror. I think you’ll be safe, don’t you?”

“Gin!” he shouted back through the door. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, call reinforcements!”

“What?” Ginny’s sleepy voice called from upstairs.

“Never mind! I won’t be long!”

He took his heavy Auror’s robe from the hook on the wall and shrugged it on, fastening it against the damp March air. He followed Julia down the path for a moment and then away over the rough grass towards a copse of bare willow and hazel and dark holly trees near the brook that ran between deep banks fifty yards or so from the house. Under a big old beech tree that still held the dead leaves of the previous year, Julia stopped and turned to him. “You should go on your own, now,” she said. “I’ll wait here until you come back.” She was biting her lip, and looked anxious. “Go on, it’s important, honestly, but you won’t want me there.”

Harry hesitated, looking at her dubiously.

“Please,” said Julia. “You must go and see. You must.”

Harry pulled his wand out and racked his brain for as many protective and investigatory charms as he could. “ _Hominem revelio!_ _Specialis revelio!_ ” Nothing seemed amiss. “ _Praemonstro! Praesidio! Defensio!”_   He walked in the direction of the trees, keeping his wand poised and ready.

As he got nearer, he saw something half-hidden behind the bushes. It appeared to be the back-end of a motorcycle. Harry glanced back towards the house then at Julia. The urge to go on was almost irresistible, but his training had become second nature; such urges were dangerous and arbitrary, leading to all sorts of unwanted consequences.

His skin prickled; the hairs on his head were lifting away from his scalp. He sensed something was about to change.

Abruptly, he stopped. He should go back. Things were good for him now. He didn’t want change; there had been enough of that. Turning away, he began to walk back to his home where everything was safe and predictable, but Julia was watching him. She shook her head, and defeated, he turned around again, pulled his thick robe securely about his ears, and continued towards the trees.

.

 

 

 


	3. When Twelve Years he Scarce Had Seen.

** Chapter Three: When Twelve Years he Scarce Had Seen. **

****

Unlike many of his peers, Harry had never taken much of an interest in motorcycles. This may have been in part, because anything that reminded him of his godfather induced a pain deep in his belly that felt oddly like hunger. But as he got nearer and the rest of the machine emerged from the sodden shrubbery, he concluded that this was an old-fashioned one. Someone was leaning on it.

As he drew closer, squinting slightly behind his foggy glasses, a tall, slim, middle-aged man wearing a Muggle leather jacket with a sheepskin collar came into focus. He had a beard and was bare-headed with rather long, wavy hair that fell untidily across his face, rainwater dripping from the ends. Motionless and impassive, he waited, watching as Harry approached.

Harry stopped and stared, blinking hard. He took his glasses off and polished them on his robe, then repositioned them on his nose. The man appeared just the same. Harry took his glasses off again and waved his wand. “ _Impervius!”_ he said hopefully, adding _“Perlucidus!”_ for good measure, then put them back on and looked again.

“No,” he whispered. “No. No! You can’t be!” He brandished his wand wildly in the stranger’s direction. “ _Homorphus revelio!”_

The man’s mouth quirked into an unforgettable grin. “Don’t you think it’s me? Quite right. I don’t blame you.” His voice was low, rough and hauntingly familiar.

In the time it took to draw a breath, the man’s body twisted and the head darkened, shrank and elongated until, standing before him, wagging its tail, was a huge, shaggy black dog which jumped up to him, putting its great muddy paws on his chest.

“Padfoot?” Harry could hardly breathe. “Padfoot!”

The dog barked once, licking his face. Before he could react, another shivering shift of reality had the man’s hands resting for moment longer on Harry’s shoulders.

“No! Sirius? No!” He shook his head violently. “This isn’t happening! It can’t be!”

The silver-grey eyes were the same, though the lines at the corners and on the forehead were deeper, and the creases on his cheeks were deep furrows of remembered misery. The hair was still long but now mostly grey, and the whiskers that had once been dark and straggly were white and neatly trimmed.

The voice still held a growl. “Ask me a question,” he said. “Constant vigilance. Can’t be too careful. Trust no-one. Go on, Harry. Ask me something.”

“Er,” Harry felt dizzy. He was shivering, his heart was pounding and his mind racing, though time seemed to have slowed. Was this some sort of twisted joke? Or a plot? He still had enemies, no doubt. Was someone using Polyjuice potion? But how? It made no sense.

“Um, I dunno. . .” He searched his memories. “I know. What did you give me for Christmas the year of the Triwizard Tournament?

“Oh, nice one, Harry! I gave you my old universal multi-magicklock penknife. Have you still got it? I’d like to see it again.”

“No. It melted in the department of Mysteries.”

“Oh. Shame.”

“How? How. . . ?” Harry was shaking, and he could hear the trembling in his voice. _Fine sort of Head Auror_ he thought. _Collapsing into a jelly at the first sign of anything untoward_.

“Put the wand away,” said the person who was apparently claiming to be Sirius, “you’ll have someone’s eye out, waving it around like that.”

Harry looked at it for a moment, without really seeing, then absently stuck it in the pocket of his robe.

“You can hit me if you like,” said the man.

“Hit you?” Harry’s cheeks were wet. He sniffed and wiped his sleeve across his face. “Why would I want to hit you?”

Sirius sighed. “Well, I do seem to have that effect on people. Always did. But be gentle with me, I’m an old man now.”

“Am I dreaming?” asked Harry. He reached out and touched the other man on the arm, feeling the warmth and solid muscles underneath the leather sleeve. Then he found himself pulled into a bear hug, and he was crying properly.

“Sirius? Sirius! You’re alive. Merlin! You’re alive!” Harry drew away, taking his glasses off and rubbing his cheeks. He took the older man’s face in his hands, staring into the eyes he had once known so well.  “Where the bloody hell have you been?”

“Good question. Long story. Let me see you.” Sirius held Harry at arm’s length, the big bony hands firm on Harry’s shoulders. “Ah, you’ve grown up. Filled out. Quite a bit, in fact.” Even though his long robes were fastened, Harry surreptitiously tightened his stomach muscles.  

“You’re a lot taller, too. Nearly as tall as me. So you’re an Auror now? Head Auror, no less, so I’m told!”

Harry felt like a fraud, as he always did when someone reminded him of his title. He lived in daily expectation of others discovering what he already knew; he really was not quite ready for the responsibility.

Smiling, Sirius ruffled Harry’s hair, as he so often had in the past. “Your mum would be proud of you. Not so sure about your dad.  James was a bit of an anarchist.”  Harry must have looked shocked because Sirius laughed and clapped him on the back. “Don’t look so worried, I’m joking!”  He sobered. “You’re older now than your dad was when he died. I still miss him Harry, you know.  Every day I miss him.” His gaze shadowed and grew misty. “Now I’m getting maudlin. Aren’t you going to invite us in? I’d love a cup of tea.”

Harry did not answer immediately. He stood looking at Sirius, drinking in the sight of him and listening to the dripping of the rain, until the older man shifted uncomfortably and said, “Have I grown an extra head, Harry? I’m not a ghost. Honestly.”

“No, I don’t think you are,” agreed Harry at last. “You’d better come in, then.”

They walked back towards Julia, who came to meet them on the path. She reached up to brush an errant lock of damp hair away from Sirius’s face and beamed at Harry with obvious relief. “It went well then?”   

“Come to the house,” said Harry, “you’d better meet Ginny and the children.” He noticed that Sirius and Julia held hands as they walked. It made him slightly ill at ease, and he avoided looking at them.

Ginny was up and dressed. She had seen the three of them walking up the path and was waiting at the front door looking curious. Lily was perched on her hip.

Harry had no idea how to tackle this. “Ah, Ginny,” he said, “this is Julia.”

Julia smiled at Ginny. “Call me Jules. I’ve read all about you. It’s lovely to meet you at last. I knew your mum and dad a few years ago.”

Ginny seemed reassured, then looked beyond Harry. Her face went white.

“Hullo, Ginevra,” said Sirius. 

“Whoa!” said Julia grabbing Lily as Ginny swayed and nearly fell. “Harry!”

Harry swiftly put his arm around Ginny’s shoulder and she leaned on him for support, her breathing fast and shallow. Julia slotted Lily on to her own hip with a practised movement.

“Wha‒?” said Ginny. She knuckled her eyes and shook her head in terror. “No!”

“Sorry,” said Sirius, grimacing. “Tact was never my strong point.”

“How the – what? I don’t understand! How can this be happening? Harry! This can’t be real!”

“I think it can,” he said gently. “Gin, this is Sirius, really it is. Let’s go indoors.”

In the hallway, Sirius shook the water from his hair in the same way that Padfoot would shake himself dry. Julia pulled off her hat and scarf in a more conventional manner revealing brown hair with a few light strands of silver beginning to show at her temples.

Harry showed Julia and Sirius into the messy living room and removed various toys and small items of clothing from the chairs.

James had picked up on the tense atmosphere and was quiet and anxious, rummaging absently in his box of Lego while his gaze moved between his parents and the two strangers. Albus took his lead from James as usual, and did the same.

Ginny was still uncharacteristically quiet, standing by the door and watching them with unease. Harry waved Sirius into a chair and sat down at the table. Julia deposited Lily on his knee. “Come with me, Ginny,” she said. “Can we make some tea?”

“Oh!” Ginny pulled herself together. “Yes, yes, of course. Come into the kitchen.” She seemed relieved to be leaving the room. “Sorry,” Harry heard her saying, “it’s a bit untidy in here.”

Harry’s eyes followed the two women as they left. Julia pushed the door shut so that he could not hear what they were saying to each other, then he looked at Sirius ‒ Sirius Black! ‒ sitting there in Harry’s house as if he had never been dead.

Harry spoke without thinking. “Julia. You’re - together? She’s not what I would have expected. I mean ‒ she’s a Muggle, Sirius!” He realised he was digging a hole for himself and cursed his insensitivity.

“Be careful, Harry.” Sirius’s voice had an edge of warning about it. “Don’t underestimate her.”

“Sorry,” said Harry. “None of my business.”

“No, it’s not,” said Sirius. He looked reflective. “She wormed me once, you know.”

“Pardon?” Harry thought he must have misheard.

“She wormed me. Well, Padfoot, to be more precise.”

Harry struggled to see where the conversation was going. “Er, why did she do that?”

“She supposed she was doing me a favour. I had neglected to tell her that Padfoot and I are one and the same, you see.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek.

“You can laugh if you wish. Julia regularly reminds me of it when she thinks I’m getting too full of myself.”

“Full of yourself?”

“According to Julia – I believe she is mistaken, mind – but according to Julia, I have a tendency to do a thing she calls the ‘ _I’m Sirius Black, no-one tells me what to do’_ face. She disapproves.”

Harry sniggered. “I’m liking her more all the time.”

Sirius nodded. “Me too.”

They both laughed then. “Now,” said Sirius, “how about introducing me to your children?”

“James,” Harry beckoned, “come over here, there’s someone I want you to meet. And you too, Albus.”

“You called him James,” smiled Sirius, “That’s good.”

Hesitantly, James stood beside Sirius. Albus stood behind James with his thumb firmly in his mouth.

“I’d like you to meet my sons,” said Harry. “James and Albus.”

“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, James,” said Sirius, taking James’s little hand and shaking it. “And you too, Albus. Though I think that hand probably wants to stay where it is.”

The kitchen door opened and Ginny and Julia came back into the room carrying cups of tea and half a packet of ginger nuts. Ginny had regained her colour but still kept casting sidelong glances at Sirius. In silence, she sat down on the sofa, holding a mug of tea in front of her like a shield.

Julia put a cup down by Sirius and knelt on the floor in front of James. “How do you do, Mr Potter?” she said.

James screeched with amusement. “That’s not me!” he cried. “Anyway, that’s my daddy!”

“Oh!” she said, “you’re such a big lad, I thought you must be Mr Potter. Have you met Sirius?”

“Oh, Daddy, that’s my name too!” said James, jumping with excitement.

“So it is,” said Harry.

“Harry?” Sirius looked up, visibly moved. Julia rummaged in her pocket and held a pack of tissues out to him.

Sirius looked at it. “Put those away, Julia, I’m not going to cry. But, Harry, really?”

“Well, what do you expect?” said Harry, tetchily.

“I don’t know. Not that. Thanks, Harry!”

“Don’t mention it,” Harry said, embarrassed. Even in his dreams, he had never imagined having this conversation. “And don’t think you’re special. Albus’s middle name is Severus.”

Sirius gave a sharp bark of laughter that made Lily jump in alarm.

James, followed by Albus, trotted over to his toy box and delved for something inside it before returning. He presented Sirius with a small and rather sticky metal Quidditch player mounted on a broomstick.

Sirius slid off the chair and sat cross-legged on the floor. Taking his wand from the waistband of his trousers, he sent the little broomstick and its rider zooming around the room. Julia ducked as it just missed her head.

“Behave yourself, Sirius,” she said, “we’re in company.”

Sirius grinned and sent the toy spinning higher where its gyrations would not present an immediate risk of injury.

Lily started to struggle and Harry put her down on the floor. She crawled over to join her brothers.

“Hey, come on, kids,” said Harry, “don’t all pester Sirius.”

Sirius lay down on his back with his hands folded on his stomach, watching the little broomstick. “Leave them alone,” he said. “I’m very good with children, I’ll have you know. They like me.” This was clearly the truth. Within minutes, James was demonstrating how to build a space ship from Lego, and Albus was studying his beard with fascination, it being something of a novelty. Lily crawled over, heaved herself on to his chest, popped her thumb into her mouth and closed her eyes. Sirius dropped a light kiss on the top of her head.

Abruptly, Julia got up from her seat and went into the kitchen. Harry shared a puzzled glance with Ginny and followed. Julia had started energetically tackling the extensive pile of dishes in the sink, which was not an activity he expected from someone he had only just met.

“Julia?”

“Sorry.” She lifted her face towards the window, but Harry thought she was not really seeing anything. He touched her arm. She turned her face to him and he was taken aback to see that she looked stricken. She took the tissues out again and blew her nose.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “It caught me by surprise. He missed it all, you know. Megan’s first years. He would have been so good at it.”

“Megan?”

“Oh, of course, you don’t know. Our daughter. She’s at Hogwarts.”

“Your daughter? You mean, yours and _Sirius’s_?” A nasty suspicion entered his mind, and he observed Julia doubtfully.

“You don’t believe me, I can tell. You think I’m somehow taking advantage of Sirius don’t you? You think I’m not good enough for him. Because I’m a Muggle.”

“No,” he said, sounding defensive to his own ears. “Not at all. I mean, of course I believe you.”

“It’s all right. When you meet her there will be no doubt in your mind, I promise. Come on, let’s go back in.”

Sirius was still lying on the floor with Lily apparently asleep on his chest. Julia sat on a chair beside him.

“Why are you not dead?” said Ginny with typical bluntness. “Harry saw you – he saw you fall through the veil. He has nightmares about it! Has done for nearly thirteen years!”

Sirius wrapped his arm round Lily and pulled himself smoothly into a sitting position without disturbing her. Harry wished he could do that.

 “I did,” said Harry. “I saw you die, Sirius. I grieved for you. Many people did. Remus was shattered. So was Tonks. But here you are.”

“I would not have wanted anyone to grieve, Harry.”

“No-one gets to make that choice though,” said Harry. “How, Sirius – How did you come back? And if you did, then does that mean–?”

There was sadness in Sirius’s eyes. “No. I’m sorry, Harry, it doesn’t work like that. I think I was able to return because I wasn’t dead. I couldn’t be, you see, because I was still alive when I fell through the Veil. That’s not supposed to happen. It causes ripples. Disturbs the balance.”

Lily started to fret and he murmured to her and rocked her against his chest. Julia touched him lightly on the shoulder and held her arms out. ”My turn.”

Sirius passed Lily up to her and Julia bounced her on her knee. Sniffing at Lily’s neck, she closed her eyes in pleasure and said, “Don’t babies smell wonderful?” She tickled the palm of Lily’s little hands and started playing a game with her fingers. “ _Round and round the garden, like a teddy bear_ ,” she murmured, and tickled Lily again until she laughed.

An unfathomable look crossed Sirius’s face as he watched them for a moment, then he turned back to Harry. “I don’t remember a thing, you know. Nothing. It’s as if all those years didn’t happen for me. Or maybe I didn’t happen for those years. I did remember some things, at first. Julia tells me I recalled speaking to you.”

Harry’s breath stopped in his lungs for a second. He looked at Julia and she nodded. “Yes, he did.”

“That means something to you, doesn’t it?” said Sirius.

Unable to speak, Harry just nodded.

“And Megan tells me we had several conversations. I have no recollection of it, but she’s quite adamant.”

“So what happened to bring you back?”

“Well now, there’s a question. Megan has a particular talent for finding things that are lost, and assures me I came back because she found me. Then Julia called me. I do find, Harry, that when a woman tells you to do something, you’ll save yourself a lot of grief by just getting on with it.”

Harry was of the same opinion. From the corner of his eye, he thought the two women smirked at each other. He looked at Julia in astonishment. “You called him back? But how? You’re not a witch!”

She looked uncomfortable. “You don’t have to be a witch or a wizard to use Old Magic, Harry. It’s a universal power. You know, a lot of ancient rituals that are nowadays regarded just as quaint and harmless traditions, originated as ways to channel the Old Magic? Last Halloween, I unwittingly performed one of those rituals, and it allowed a gate to open between our world and the world beyond the Veil.”

She and Sirius exchanged a fleeting glance and Harry sensed that she had left more out of the story than she had included.

He looked at Ginny, who shrugged, helplessly. After a difficult silence when it seemed no one could think of anything useful to say, Harry clumsily changed the subject. “Sirius, er ‒” He had always felt awkward discussing money. He thought it was a result of having far too much of it when other people had too little.  “Sirius, I’ll need to arrange for you to have everything back. You know, the house and ‒ everything.”

Sirius scowled. “No, you won’t, Harry. It’s not mine now. You will keep this quiet? You know how it is being The-Boy-Who-Lived. What would it be like being The-Man-Who-Came-Back-From-The-Dead?”

Harry grunted a laugh. “I take your point. But you will want to see some people again, surely?”

“Teddy,” he said, “and Andromeda too, of course. But mainly I want to know Remus’s son.”

Julia interrupted. “We didn’t choose today to come and see you on a whim, you know. I think Sirius would have waited a little longer.  But Kingsley told me there was a break-in at the Ministry the other day?”

Harry waited for more.

“He wants me to go back into the Ministry archives. He has an idea that I might know if anything is missing. I have to say it seems like a very long shot to me. It’s thirteen years since I was there, and my memory – well, it’s been all over the place. But I’ll try. Will you take me in there? It needs to be pretty soon. ”

Harry nodded in agreement.

“I’ll take the train down and meet you in London.”

“I could apparate you,” he offered.

“No you couldn’t. It wouldn’t work, I – oh, it’s complicated. You’ll have to take my word for it.”

“Take her word for it,” advised Sirius, “and don’t try to argue. You’ll lose.”

Harry shrugged. “If you say so. Julia, why don’t you make your way to Grimmauld Place tomorrow evening, spend the night there, and then we can have next day in the Ministry?” She looked horrified and he laughed. “We’ve done a lot of work on the house. It’s really quite civilised now! Why don’t you come too, Sirius?”

Sirius gazed into the fireplace, his expression shadowed and brooding. “No, I don’t want to go back there. That’s my past, Harry, and not a place I want to visit again.” He did not say anything else, but Harry could feel a profound reluctance to talk about it further.

Julia touched Sirius’s arm. “It’s time we were making a move, sweetheart. I’m sure Harry and Ginny would like to be left in peace now. I daresay this has all been a bit of a shock for them.” She tugged on her unflattering woolly hat and wrapped her scarf around her neck.

.

Harry and Ginny watched through the window as Julia and Sirius walked away towards the trees and a few minutes later the motorbike rumbled into the air above. In a few seconds, it had diminished into a tiny speck in the overcast sky.  

They looked at each other. Ginny shook her head. “Did that really happen?”

Harry drew Ginny into his arms and buried his face in her hair, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo. “I don’t know, love. Did it?”

.

* * *

 

 

 

Sirius brought the motorbike down in the field behind Layhill Cottage and rode it into the dilapidated hay barn. Julia climbed off awkwardly, stiff and clumsy with chill, but Sirius was as supple as ever, unaffected by the inclement weather and the cold.  Albie started to bark as they approached the back door and greeted them with exuberant joy as they entered.

Julia rubbed some feeling into her cold hands. “Will you take him for a walk, Sirius, while I sort some lunch out?”

“Sure. I could do with a stretch. Come on, fella.”

.

While the two great black dogs were out, Julia boiled some eggs and cut a few slices from a joint of ham. She switched on the small television she kept in the kitchen to catch the news. After several dreary accounts of political crises and economic collapse, the weather forecast was as cold and dull as the news had been. Then a cheery announcer beamed, “And now it’s time for the news in your region!”

The report was being filmed outdoors in an ordinary street of brick terraced houses. A subtitle scrolled across the bottom part of the screen. ‘ _Local man targeted by gang. Police warning issued’_.

An eager young reporter with a red, raw-looking nose was speaking into a large microphone, his voice raised against the gusty wind. “An elderly Layford man is in a serious condition in hospital today after having apparently been attacked in his own home. Ninety-four-year-old Ken Perks, who, as Konrad Perkman, came to England as a refugee with his young family in 1938, is believed to have answered the door to two suspicious individuals at about eleven o clock this morning. He was discovered in a distressed condition by his neighbour, Leslie Barrett a little while later.”  The reporter thrust the microphone at an elderly man in a flat cap.

“Mr Barrett, can you tell us what happened?”

The man took off his cap and scratched his head. “I jus’ thought they was God-botherers, you know. But they wasn’t wearing suits, they was wearing. . . well, sort of long coats. Funny hats. Like fancy dress. I told ‘em to clear off!” He looked proud. Then he looked unhappy. “But I shouted Kenny and ‘e didn’t come to the door, so I went in and I . . . well, I found Ken and ‘e ‒ well, ‘e didn’t know me. ‘‘Oo are you?’ ‘e said. ‘Oo are you?’ ‘E’s known me for fifty years!”

The back door opened. Sirius came through into the kitchen, and glanced at the television.

The camera panned to the reporter again. “Nothing appears to have been taken, and one line of enquiry is that this was a racist attack by a far-right group.  Mr Perks is said to be in a serious but stable condition in hospital. Anyone with information is asked to call Detective Inspector Hywel Price of Mid-Mercia police on this number.” A telephone number scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Behind it, the camera swept around the crime scene and several passers-by peered curiously towards it. A thin, unhealthy-looking man with sunken cheeks narrowed his eyes at the camera. “Remember folks, keep watch for anything suspicious and have a care for your neighbours – especially if they are elderly or vulnerable. Now it’s time for the local weather. Over to you, Angela!”

“Merlin!” said Sirius staring at the screen, “that was Dolohov!”

“What? Sweetheart, it can’t have been!”

“It was, Julia, I swear!”

“But Sirius, Dolohov is in Azkaban.” She stroked his cheek. “It’s seeing Harry again, isn’t it? You’re unsettled.”

He was uncertain. “Do you think so? It just . . . it really looked like him.” His face hardened in a way Julia had not seen since they were in his house at Grimmauld Place. “If I thought he was on the loose ‒ well, I wouldn’t just ignore it, you know.”

“It can’t have been him, Sirius,” she repeated. “Why don’t you go and have a nice long shower and then we’ll eat afterwards?”

He caught her round the waist; smiling, just for her. “I’ll have a nice long shower if you’ll join me.”

And held in his smile and warmth, Julia forgot all about Dolohov and Harry and everything else for a while. But that night in his sleep, Sirius sobbed and shook and cried out a name she had not heard in years.

“Ssh,” she said, “it’s all right, it’s me, it’s Julia.”

“Julia? For a moment I thought . . .”

“I know, love. I know.”

And she did know that some wounds are too deep to ever truly heal, and after he had calmed, she lay awake filled with doubts.  

   

* * *

 

               

 

 


	4. Erewhile Perplexed with Thought

** Chapter Four: Erewhile Perplexed with Thought. **

****

“Stupid wizards!” The voice was shrill, echoing slightly in the high space. “You was not to hurt any Muggles! You is stupid, stupid wizards!” The small figure stamped its feet in rage, and small clouds of gritty dust rose in the gloom.

“Will the old man survive?” asked the man with the harsh, gasping voice. “More important perhaps ‒ will he remember? You!” He poked the bulky man viciously in the chest. What sort of half-wit leaves his wand behind?”

“It weren’t my fault!” complained the big man pointing at the thin, dark man. “It were ‘is fault. ‘e ‘ad one of ‘is funny turns an’ it all went wrong!”

The breathless man shook his head. “I don’t know when I ever came across more inept fools!”

“Take care who you call fool!” spat the thin man spraying flecks of brown saliva and chewed vegetable matter into the air.  “It is not important. I retrieved the wand, and we do not need to be concerned with the fate of irrelevant Muggles!”

 “We should be concerned!’ A young man with fair hair pulled back into a ponytail from a receding hairline looked frightened, and his voice shook. “We advocate respect and emancipation!”

The thin, dark man spoke again, wiping away a thin trail of blood that trickled from his nose. “In any case, the crucial thing is that we know where to find the key. Now we just have to get it. The old woman should not present too much of an obstacle.”

The breathless man spoke again. “She may be an old woman, but she is still a witch. It might not be so simple as you think. We cannot afford any more . . . mistakes. And you,” he turned to the big man. “If you lose your wand again, I will probably kill you.”

.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry stood resting his hands on the back of a chair in the Minister’s office and surveyed the man who sat, inscrutable, behind the huge, polished desk.

“Kingsley, I had some visitors yesterday.”

“Ah, excellent. How did it go?”

Harry suppressed his resentment that Kingsley had not seen fit to tell him of Sirius’s return sooner. “How long have you known?”

“Sit down a minute, Harry.” Kingsley waved him into a seat and steepled his fingers under his chin. “I have known since just before Christmas last year.”

Harry stood up again, restless. He paced the floor. “Why didn’t you tell me? Don’t you think I had a right to know?”

“In actual fact, Harry, with some exceptions, I don’t think knowledge is a right, but a privilege. I was sure Sirius would make himself known to you when he was ready. As it happens, I have hurried the process along rather.”

“Yes, Julia said as much. I’m still confused though.”                                                                                                 

“Even Sirius does not fully understand what happened,” said Kingsley, “and what he does, he can’t explain. It is something you need to know inside. Here.” He patted himself on the chest. “Tell me, what did you think of him?”

Harry tried to analyse his impressions.  “He was – great! Older, of course, but ‒ I don’t know, he’s different. He seems more  ‒ content, somehow? I didn’t really know him, did I, back then? I think Hermione recognised that he was, well, unstable, in a way.”

“’Fragile’ is the word Julia used.”

Harry considered. “Yes, that’s better. I was too young, and I didn’t want to see that. I needed a father figure, I suppose. And he was never that was he? But,” he ploughed on. “What do you think of Julia? She isn’t the sort of woman I would have expected Sirius to be ‒ well ‒ interested in. She’s a Muggle, Kingsley!”

On odd occasions over the years, Harry had seen hints of Kingsley’s famously well-controlled temper, but he had never seen it directed at himself and he sat down suddenly, intimidated by the momentary flash of anger in the man’s dark eyes.

Kingsley leaned back in his chair and took a few unhurried seconds to smooth the sleeve of his silky robe. “Harry,” he said gently, when did you become so prejudiced? Did you learn nothing from the war? You do not regard half-bloods and Muggle-borns as inferior, surely?”

Harry was indignant. “Of course not!”

“How about Squibs then?”

“Well,” blustered Harry. “They’re just ‒ Squibs!”

“They’re _just_ people Harry. As are Muggles. Is it really so hard to see that?

“She claims her daughter is Sirius’s, Kingsley! How can that be possible?”

“I think you should trust your godfather to know that for himself. Did you see Sirius often in the months before he died?”

Harry thought back. “No,” he said slowly. “Only for a few minutes at a time, I suppose.”

“Then you should recognise that Sirius had a life of his own, however limited it may have been at that time." Kingsley continued, "When they were young, your father and Sirius ‒ but most especially Sirius ‒ courted danger. They flirted with it, made love to it, treated it as their own personal toy. They believed themselves to be untouchable. When James fell in love with Lily and you came along, he settled down to an extent, but Sirius did not. If anything, he grew wilder. I daresay most people expected him have fallen in love with one of the beautiful witches or wizards ‒” Harry blinked, “‒ who became besotted by him with monotonous regularity. They were the moving wallpaper to his life, if you like. But after Azkaban . . . after the Dementors in particular ‒”

Harry experienced a moment of clarity.                    

“Julia makes him feel safe.”

“In a nutshell, I think that is the case, yes. But don’t underestimate her, Harry. She might surprise you yet.”

 “I’m meeting her at Grimmauld Place this evening. I’ll bring her to look in the archives tomorrow.”

Kingsley nodded. “I’ll send a Ministry car over in the morning. She won’t let you apparate her or use the Floo network.”

“No, she said. Thanks, Kingsley. I wanted to ask you something else as well.”

The Minister leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his chest. “Yes?”

“The day before yesterday, I had the notion you thought one of the early release prisoners was involved in the break-in.”

Kingsley’s hand went to the gold earring he always wore. “It makes no sense,” he said, “why would a dying man want to steal something apparently useless?  But the way the wards in the Department of Mysteries were bypassed was very reminiscent of Zmyslony’s work. We use Goblin wards in the highest security areas, as they are almost impossible to break. He is the only wizard in living memory known to have mastered them. So . . . can it really be coincidence?”

“I see. So where is he now?”

“We don’t know.”

“We _don’t know?_ Early release prisoners are monitored, surely?”

Kingsley’s impassive expression told Harry everything. “It appears that his weakened condition was regarded as an excuse not to track his movements. It is of at least equal concern that we have no idea where Dolohov is either.”

“With respect, Kingsley, you’re Minister of Magic! All departments are answerable to you!”

Kingsley nodded. He gazed at Harry. “I took my eye off the Snitch. I misjudged the situation and delegated responsibility where I should not have. I am not infallible, Harry. No one is. Not even the head of the Auror’s Office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who also has some responsibility for what happens in Azkaban.”

“Bloody hell.” Harry took his glasses off and squeezed the bridge of his nose. He stood up and walked over to the large window on the wall of the Minister’s office. The bustling streets of Whitehall were never still and Harry had a suspicion that, unlike the other windows in the Ministry, this one showed what was actually taking place at that moment, far above where he stood. He watched a red double decker bus progress leisurely towards Westminster Bridge. “You’re saying that one of the most violent, dangerous and unstable Death Eaters – the man who killed Remus Lupin! – is on the loose. And we don’t know where he is? Why in Merlin’s name was he released anyway? Both of them!”

Kingsley rolled his eyes. “Paperwork,” he said simply.

“What do you mean, _paperwork_?”

“Just that.” Kingsley spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Nowadays, if a prisoner dies in custody, no matter what the cause, there has to be an official enquiry with all the bureaucracy that entails.”

“I see.” That was something Harry could sympathise with. “Do you think Dolohov is still dangerous?”

Kingsley contemplated his window with a furrowed brow. “I think he will be dangerous until he breathes his last.”

.

.

From the tall windows of an upstairs room in the house at Grimmauld Place, Harry spotted Julia climbing out of a cab a few doors down, and went out to meet her. They walked up the steps to the cheerful, cherry-red front door.

She hesitated at the threshold. “You’ve got rid of that disgusting door knocker, thank goodness,” she said.

Harry thought she was dithering and urged her inside, grinning. “I didn’t mind it myself, but Ginny’s opinion was the same as yours. So of course it went.”

“Of course.” Indoors, Julia stroked the polished inlay of an elegant demi-lune table with a curious thumb. “I didn’t think I’d ever see this place again.” She sniffed appreciatively. “It smells of beeswax and lavender instead of mildew and damp dog. It’s remarkably pleasant now. Sirius didn’t ever do much in the way of housekeeping.”

“You couldn’t persuade him to come with you?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t try. He hated this place. It only holds bad memories for him.” She looked about. “You’ve had a new stair carpet fitted! And Mrs B’s still there I see,” she indicated the shrouded picture on the wall at the bottom of the stairs.

Harry sighed. “We couldn’t get rid of the old bat and we’ve grown almost fond of her.” With perfect timing, the curtains flew apart. “MUGG – ack!”  The curtains swished shut again. Harry gaped in astonishment.

“She remembers me,” said Julia, looking impressed. “Well I never!” She cast a glance up the stairs and looked pensive. “I still half-expect to see Padfoot up there, growling at me.” She turned to face him. “What happened to Buckbeak, Harry? Everything happened so suddenly in the end. I hate to think he had been abandoned here. He was the only company Sirius had, you know; for weeks on end sometimes. We would like to see him again. Is he still alive? I don’t know how long hippogriffs live.”

“Yes he is,” said Harry, “he lives at Hogwarts with Hagrid. We had to change his name to Witherwings though, and it stuck.”

“That’s a much nicer name,” said Julia with approval. “Sirius will be so pleased when I tell him.”

“Let me show you to your room.” Harry led her upstairs to the guest bedroom on the second floor. It was the room he had shared with Ron when he had first come to Grimmauld Place, and he still viewed it with affection.

“Oh, this is where I stayed when I was here before!” Julia smiled. “It’s even the same bed.” She sat down on it and bounced gently. “New mattress though.” She prodded it with her fingers.

“The old one was split,” said Harry. “There were feathers all over the place.”

Julia went rather pink.

“Kreacher has prepared a light meal,” Harry told her. “It’s in the kitchen whenever you’re ready.”

“Kreacher! He’s still here? After ‒ well ‒ you know! He wanted Sirius dead, Harry!”

“I know that, Julia, but things aren’t always so clear cut. Sirius didn’t help himself did he?”

Julia shook her head sadly. “No he didn’t, and he was horrid to Kreacher, it’s true. But still ‒”

“Well, anyway,” Harry cut her off. An air of grievance was emanating from Julia that he felt ill-equipped to answer, and he was still not sure that he entirely trusted her. “If you need anything, call him.”

“I don’t think I’ll be doing that.”

“No? It’s up to you. We had electricity put in, but it’s a bit, ah ‒ unpredictable. Tends to blow fuses. There’s a television in the drawing room, but it only gets Channel Four. Help yourself to whatever you want and have a comfortable night. I’ll be here in the morning. Kingsley’s sending a Ministry car over for us.”

“Oh joy,” muttered Julia. “I can hardly wait.”

.

.

When Harry arrived back at Grimmauld Place next morning, Julia was finishing her breakfast. “He can certainly cook,” she said, wiping her plate clean with a piece of bread, “Kreacher. But I’m relieved to say I haven’t actually seen him. I daresay he is, too.”

“Are you ready?” said Harry. “The car is waiting outside.”

Julia’s expression was gloomy as she climbed into the back of the shiny black saloon and it amused Harry considerably that she squeezed her eyes shut as soon as the car started to move off, and refused to open them again until he assured her they had reached their destination.

He took her into the Ministry through the new visitor’s entrance, which nowadays took the outward form of a modern automatic public toilet with an ‘ _out of order’_ sign on the door.

“I expect it rather draws attention for people to use an old-fashioned phone box these days,” she speculated.

“That’s right,” said Harry. “It was having the opposite effect to what we would want. Let’s go and find Arthur first. We’ll take the lift.” He waved her ahead. “After you.”

.

Arthur stood up, beaming in delight, as they entered his office. “Julia, my dear! It’s been far too long!”

“Arthur! It’s so good to see you again. They’ve given you a bigger office!” Julia gave him an affectionate hug and Arthur blushed with pleasure.

Harry felt slightly taken aback at their obvious comfortable familiarity, and tried to recall whether Arthur had ever mentioned her before.

“I’m Head of the Department now. It’s super to see you, Julia! I often wondered what had become of you.” Arthur took hold of her hand, patting it. “I did try to find you, after – you know. And later on I thought you might like your old job back. But you’d disappeared.”

“In more ways than one I think,” she agreed. “How’s Molly?” Her face clouded. “I was terribly sorry to hear about Fred. It must have been so awful for you all.” “

Arthur’s eyes rested for a moment on a photograph of two laughing, red-haired youths. “Many good lives were lost,” he said, “as you know. But we remember them with joy and gratitude.” His eyes were bright, and Julia took his hand again for a moment.

“Come along,” he said. “No use moping. This is not the time or place. Let’s go and take a look at these musty old books, shall we?”

Arthur and Julia walked ahead, reminiscing with much laughter, until they reached the Ministry archives. Arthur led them through the main room to the door of the Muggle research section, and waved his wand, muttering “ _Aperio.”_ The door catch popped open.

Harry followed Arthur and Julia inside.

“Oh Arthur, what a mess!” said Julia in horror. “This is vandalism!”

“Hardly anyone has been in this part of the archives for nearly thirteen years,” said Arthur. “Since you left, in fact. In any case, no one else ever used this section. I know it was a long time ago, but you are probably the only person with a chance of knowing if anything is missing.”

Julia walked around, occasionally taking a document or book down and putting it back, then she came back to the ransacked area. She knelt down on the floor and picked some of the loose pages up, then delicately leafed through the brittle pages of an old book. For some time she collected documents and loose pages, tidying and stacking them on to the shelves, looking preoccupied. After a while she stopped and turned to face Harry and Arthur.

“I’m so sorry, I really can’t remember. It’s all familiar, but – honestly, Arthur I can’t tell you what’s missing. I just don’t remember clearly enough. My memory hasn’t been the same since. . . .”  She chewed at her thumbnail. “I don’t suppose . . . Albus made me forget everything after Sirius died, but – I, erm, got my memories back again.”

Arthur looked surprised, and was about to speak, but Julia continued. “I’m not keen on the idea, but would you be able to ‒ well ‒ enhance my memory of what is in here?”

Arthur looked at Harry. “What do you think son? Is it possible?”

Harry absent-mindedly rubbed the scar on his head. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I’ve never heard of it being done, but there is someone who will know isn’t there?”

“Ah,” smiled Arthur, “of course!”

“Why don’t you both go back to Arthur’s office and catch up,” said Harry, “and I’ll see what I can do?”

“Come along, Julia,” said Arthur. “We’ll have a nice cup of tea, just like old times. Do you fancy a doughnut?”

.

Harry took the lift to the first level and made his way to the Owlery.  An attendant he recognised but could not put a name to was sweeping the outer chamber. She paused and greeted him. “Auror Potter. What can we do for you today?”

“I think I need to send an owl shortly,” he said. “Have you got a good, fast one in?”

The keeper pursed her lips and leaned on her broom. “They’re a bit thin on the ground at the moment,” she said, “or in the air, I should say.”

Harry laughed politely.

“Go and see if there’s one you fancy.” She waved him towards the entrance.

Harry went through the arched doors into a tall, domed space. The stone floor was sprinkled with feathers and droppings and the air smelt faintly musty. High above, real daylight filtered in through small panes of glass. At street level, he knew they appeared to be the cracked basement windows of an empty town house owned, like so many buildings in central London, by an absent Russian oligarch or perhaps a Saudi prince. It was cool and quiet, the silence broken now and then by a subdued hoot or the clapping of wings.

Only about a dozen owls were currently perched at different levels in the lofty chamber. A small one flew over to him and perched on his shoulder giving his ear a gentle nip of greeting. “Hullo, Pigwidgeon,” he said rummaging in his pocket for a morsel of something and finding a biscuit crumb. The owl took it, twittered in thanks and flew off. Uninspired, Harry went back to his office.

Sitting down at his desk, he pushed his overloaded in-tray aside to where it would not distract him, found a writing pad and took out his quill. ‘Dear Hermione’, he wrote, and paused. Too formal. How should he compose a letter to one of his best friends? A best friend he had not spoken to for several weeks. He chewed his lower lip and tapped the feather against his chin. Then he used the nib to scratch his ear, then he put it down for a minute. Then he screwed the paper up and tossed it into the waste paper bin. He took a fresh piece of paper.

‘H’, he wrote, and looked at it in frustration. Surely, the Head Auror should be able to compose a simple note? He hated writing letters. Shaking his head, he gave up. Even if he sent a note by a Ministry Express owl, he could not realistically expect a reply for at least a couple of hours. Instead, he made his way to the Ministry stores to requisition some Floo powder.

 


	5. The Mind is its Own Place

 

** Chapter Five: The Mind is its Own Place. **

****

He was shocked. In the four months since he had last visited soon after Hugo’s birth, the change he saw in Hermione was alarming. Always slender, now she was positively skinny. Her clothes were hanging loose, and her hair, pulled ruthlessly back from her face as usual, was escaping in an untidy frizz. Hugo was fretting at her shoulder, and she did not smile when she saw Harry.

He glanced around her lounge, brushing non-existent dust from his shoulders while he considered his strategy. In contrast to Hermione, the room was pristine; not a toy or a cushion was out of place. The light, modern furniture was pale and clean, the beige carpet was not sprinkled with a debris of crumbs like his at home and the pastel silk cushions were on the chairs where they should be. There was not a stray toy, odd shoe or dirty mug in sight. The only thing that carried a hint of untidiness was the geriatric Crookshanks, draped across the back of the sofa, motionless apart from an occasional bad-tempered flick of the tail. Harry yearned, almost painfully, for home and Ginny.

“Hullo, Harry.” Hermione’s voice was dull. “Fancy seeing you. How are you? And Ginny and the children?”

“Very well, thanks,” said Harry. “Er, how are you?”

“Fine,” she said, in a tone that did not invite further enquiry. “Is this a social visit?”

Harry felt guilty and wished he could tell her it was just that. He compromised. “Partly,” he said, “I haven’t seen you for ages. We were sorry you couldn’t make it over the other week. Ron said you were a bit down. Needed cheering up.”

“Oh, did he?” she said. “Well, I’m fine.”

“You need to get out more, Hermione,” he said. “Why don’t you think about coming back to work? The department is struggling without you.”

“My children need me here,” she said. Harry looked over to where a little girl with frizzy red hair was sitting on the floor with her nose firmly in a picture book, as it had been since he arrived.

“Hello there, Rosie,” he said.

The child lifted her solemn face to him for a moment. “‘Lo, Unca Hawwy,” she said, and returned to her book.

“H, Can you tell me about something called an, erm, Anti ‒ whatsit. Antikythera machine?”

Hermione’s forehead creased and a faint spark of interest lit in her eyes. “I have heard of it. It was something that came out of a shipwreck off the coast of Greece. A badly damaged one is in a Muggle museum somewhere, but I seem to recall there was another one that the Muggles didn’t know about. I think it ended up in the Department of Mysteries. No one knows what it’s for. I’ve got a book somewhere with an article about it. Sit down.”

Obediently, Harry did as he was told, and Hermione deposited the grizzling Hugo in his arms. “I’ll go and get it.”

While she was gone, Harry jiggled Hugo vigorously, until the grizzling turned to a gurgle. He noticed a letter on the table and spotted something vaguely familiar. Curious, he reached out and pulled it towards him to see better.

.

Hermione came back into the room carrying a battered and substantial volume he recognised as Bathilda Bagshot’s _A History of Magic_.

“Hermione,” Harry said, urgently, “I didn’t mean to be nosy, but I couldn’t help noticing this.” He picked up the letter and pointed at the emblem drawn at the top of the page. “The _Confederacy Liberatum_? Do you know anything about them?”

She took the letter from him. “Of course,” she said, “They are a rather hard-line group that broke away from our prisoner rehabilitation society a few months ago. We tried very hard to instigate reform in the Ministry, you know, but most of what we suggested fell on deaf ears. You’ll have read my report on prison conditions, obviously? I’m not altogether surprised these people have lost patience. But short of outright terrorism, I don’t know what they think they can do that hasn’t already been tried.”

“Interesting,” he said thoughtfully. “Thanks for telling me that. Have you been reading the _Quibbler_ recently?”

“No Harry,” she said, “I haven’t been reading the _Quibbler_ ; it’s full of nonsense. So,” she fixed him with a hard gaze. “You said this is not really a social visit and I assume your questions aren’t just casual curiosity. Why do you want to know about the Antikythera machine?” She perched on the edge of the table, opened the book to the index and began running her finger down the margin.

 “The machine was stolen a couple of days ago.”  

Hermione stilled, her finger poised on the page. “Stolen? From the Department of Mysteries? But why? Who would steal a thing like that?”

“We don’t know. Is there anything in there?” Harry nodded at the huge book.

“Let’s see. Ah, ‘ _Antikythera machine – see Eversio machine_ ’. Odd.” She turned the page. ‘ _Eversio machine, Page 1642_.’” She leafed back through the book and sat down. “Right, here we are.” She looked up to the heading and frowned. “It’s in the chapter about Gellert Grindelwald. How peculiar.” She began to read aloud. “‘ _Throughout the period of his friendship with Albus Dumbledore, Gellert engaged in much research upon the nature of magic. During that time, he had been given some access to the library in the Ministry of Magic in London, wherein he had discovered a book of notes copied from an ancient document. They were said to reveal the mysteries of a weapon of great power, known as the Eversio machine, of which, in the old time, two had been manufactured, but had later been lost._

_After the relationship between the two had broken down amid rumour and scandal, Gellert fled first to the Dark Continent and later to the Mediterranean to continue his study of the Dark Arts. At about this time he was joined by a distant cousin, Aeneas Bagshot. Together, they went in search of a shipwreck Gellert believed to contain the remains of the aforesaid machine and employed local sponge divers to aid in the quest. Within a year, one of the divers located a wreck off the coast of the Greek island of Antikythera and managed to retrieve two strange relics from it. Gellert believed that the mechanisms salvaged were the Eversio machines he had been searching for._

_Becoming increasingly concerned about Gellert’s state of mind, his motives, and the consequences  should he succeed in restoring function to the artefacts, Aeneas returned to Godric’s Hollow. There, he made contact with Albus Dumbledore ‒ the only person he believed to have the power to thwart Gellert’s ambitions. After some months of pursuit, Albus succeeded in tracking down and recovering the artifacts. He deposited the most intact example at the Ministry of Magic where it would be securely stored in obscurity. See appendix 747.’”_

Hermione sighed and turned to the back of the book again. “Appendices, appendices . . .” she mumbled, “Ah, 747. ‘ _For a more comprehensive account of the events herein described, see the Journal and memoir of Aeneas Bagshot, volume 2, 1898 – 1904. See footnote 38.’_

“Good grief,” she muttered, “this is ridiculous.” She scanned the bottom of the page. “ _Footnote 38. ‘At the time of writing, the Journals of Aeneas Bagshot were archived in the biographical section of the library at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._ ’” She looked up. “There. Does that clear it up for you?”

“Not much, no,” admitted Harry. “But there is something else. We believe some documents may have been taken from the Ministry archives too.”

“ _May have_ been?”

“Quite. No-one actually knows. There is one person who used to be familiar with that section of the archives, but she hasn’t been in there for over twelve years. She thinks she might be able to help if her memory could be enhanced. Is that possible, Hermione? She’s a Muggle, and I understand that her memory has been modified before, but she had it restored.”

Hermione was pensive. “A Muggle?” She tapped the book with a fingernail. “I think ‒ yes, I think it might be possible to do something for a specific purpose. I don’t suppose this can wait, can it?”

He shook his head. “‘Fraid not, H.”

“Give me an hour to see if Molly or my mother can have the children for the afternoon,” she said. “I’ll see you in the Ministry later.”

“Hermione,” he got up, handing Hugo back to her, and giving her a hug, “you’re wonderful. We’re lost without you, you know. Truthfully.”

He thought she was gratified and felt a spark of optimism.

.

When Harry arrived back at the Ministry, he made his way down to Arthur’s office, but found it deserted, with a folded note lying on the desk. His name was written at the top. He opened it.

_‘Harry,’_ it said, ‘ _we have gone to the Dog and Ferret for lunch. Join us when you get back, love, J x’_

He made his way to the reception desk. “Where,” he said without preamble, “is the Dog and Ferret?”

The receptionist looked astonished. “The Dog and Ferret is a Muggle public house, Auror Potter! Are you sure you want to go there?”

“I’m sure,” he said.

“Well, it’s on a little side street near the visitor’s entrance. Some of our younger members of staff do frequent it from time to time.” Her expression was disapproving, and the remains of Harry’s own youth slipped even further away.

.

Arthur and Julia were seated in a corner beneath a window ornately etched with the name of a long-defunct brewery. Julia waved him over. “We’ve only just ordered, Harry. Will you eat with us?”

It seemed a long time since breakfast, which had in any case, only been toast and Marmite. He looked at the menu and ordered a gastro-burger with an extensive list of accompaniments.

“It’s become rather gentrified since the last time I was here,” said Julia, “but the food looks much better.”

And it was, indeed, very good. Three quarters of an hour later, Harry belched quietly and pushed his plate away. “We’d better get back to the Ministry,” he said. “Hemione will be there at any minute.”

.

In fact, she was already waiting for them in Arthur’s office, looking exasperated. “I thought this was urgent,” she said, irritably. “I haven’t got all day, and it’s not fair to leave Molly babysitting at such short notice.”

“Molly doesn’t mind!” said Arthur. “Really, Hermione, she loves having the grandchildren!”

“Can we get to business?” continued Hermione, as if Arthur had not spoken.

Harry beckoned Julia over. “Hermione,” he said, “I’d like you to meet Julia.”

Julia put her hand out. “I’m very pleased to meet you at last, Hermione. Call me Jules, please. I’m afraid it’s my fault we kept you waiting.”

Hermione shook her hand briefly. “How do you do?”

“We may as well go straight down to the archives,” said Harry. “Lead the way, Arthur.”

.

Hermione looked disgusted at the lack of respect shown to the documents. “Vandalism!” she spat, “These people are just vandals!”

“My feelings exactly,” said Julia. “It will take days to sort it out properly. I used to be very familiar with much of this material, but Albus Dumbledore made me forget everything I had done down here. Obviously he didn’t destroy my memories permanently ‒ for which I suppose I should be grateful ‒ but much of what I remember now is not as clear as it was. In any event, this would be a tall order. Look at it!” Together, they surveyed the mess.

“Is there any way you can help me remember, Hermione?” she asked. “Just this part of my memory. It’s all messed up now. I don’t know what’s missing. Either in here,” Julia waved her hand, “or in here.” She touched her head.

“Yes,” said Hermione, “I believe I can help you. It won’t be permanent, but a few hours should be sufficient. Sit down here.” She pulled a rickety Ministry chair from under a table.

Julia sat down and regarded Hermione with evident apprehension. Hermione stared intently into Julia’s eyes. “Don’t fight it,” she said.

“I know that,” said Julia. She drew a deep breath. “I’ll let it happen.”  

“Hold still.” Hermione put the tip of her wand near Julia’s temple and placed her other hand on Julia’s forehead. _“Specialis memoria,”_ she said, _“Incipio,”_ and flicked her wand. _“Fiat.”_ She lowered her hands and waited.

Harry was confused, but watched with interest as Julia blinked and rubbed her eyes as if waking up. She gazed around, momentarily disoriented, and stood up.  In a way Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on, Julia looked different. She surveyed the shelves with intense, single-minded concentration, running her fingers along the spines of books and ledgers, occasionally taking down a stack of papers and riffling through them. She was methodical and Harry became rather bored, but Arthur and Hermione paid close attention.

At last, Julia gave a long sigh of comprehension.  “I think - Yes. I know what’s missing. I remember coming across it and thinking it was terribly interesting, although I didn’t understand it.” 

“But what was it then?” said Harry. “What was so important to the thieves?”

“I’d rather like to know, as well,” agreed Hermione, drily.

“Of course you would,” said Julia. “It’s a handwritten book of notes and diagrams, translated from an ancient Greek text. It was ‒” She paused in thought. “Yes, it had been written by a scholar named John Aubrey and was included among papers deposited at the end of the seventeenth century by Samuel Pepys. That’s how I came across it. I didn’t know what it was about, but there was something that struck me. I’ve a mental picture of it, but I can’t remember exactly what it said.”

“No?” Harry was disappointed but not surprised. “Oh well, at least we’ve got something to go on.”

“Well,” said Julia, slowly. “It’s just possible there’s a bit more than that. I was pretty obsessive about taking notes. I remember copying quite extensive parts of that document.”

“You _copied_ it?” said Hermione.

“Quite a bit of it, yes. I’m sure anything I left in my flat will be long gone but ‒” she bit her thumbnail. “I didn’t keep everything in my flat. I used to keep most of the wizard-related material here, in my office.” She turned to Arthur. “Do you know what happened to my old room after I left?”

Arthur shook his head. “There’s only one way to find out. Let’s go and see.”

.

At the end of a long, poorly lit, and rather neglected corridor Harry had no recollection of ever visiting before, they stopped outside a door. Cobwebs grew across the corner at the top of the frame and a line of debris had collected along the bottom.

“Isn’t this just a cupboard then?” he asked.

“It might as well be,” said Julia. “It’s not exactly spacious.”

Arthur turned the doorknob and shook his head in disapproval. “It’s not even locked!” he said. “How long has it been like this?” He looked pessimistic.

The room was dark and miniscule. When Julia, Arthur and Hermione had squashed inside, Harry had to stand by the open door. Arthur conjured a light.

Julia’s face was drawn, and she radiated tension. She stood with her splayed fingers resting on the dusty desk. “When I left this room, I had just said goodbye to Sirius. Even though ‒” she swallowed hard. “You people,” she said. “You think nothing of taking people’s memories. Albus told me he was protecting us from Voldemort, but you know, I think he would have done it anyway. Just because I’m a Muggle. And it was cruel. For twelve years, all I had were my dreams and the sense of something missing. How many people are out there who never get their memories back? Hm?” She glared around at them all, accusation clear on her face. “You do it so carelessly, without thinking. So convinced of your own superiority, you treat us like animals!”

Arthur looked baffled and unhappy. “Julia, no! You mustn’t think like that!”

“Sorry,” she said shaking her head. “I don’t know what got into me! I apologise. I didn’t mean you, Arthur.” She gave him a crooked smile.

Hermione looked bemused and slightly shocked as if she had suddenly been shown something she had never seen before. She stared at her wand as if it had sprouted fangs. “Harry,” she said in a low voice, “what?-”

“I’ll tell you later,” he muttered.

A window on the wall began to shimmer into life.

“Oh Arthur, look,” said Julia,” it still works!” Her expression brightened and she smiled as an attractive seascape came into focus.

“It’s your window, Julia,” said Arthur, “it needs you close by before it will work.”

“I don’t think anyone has been in here for years.” She picked up a tattered book from the small desk, leaving a clean patch in the thick layer of dust. “I left this here when. . .” she tailed off. “This should have been returned to the archives.”

Awkward in the cramped space, she turned to a wall with several shelves on it. Unerringly she selected a slim volume and took it down. She glanced through it and nodded, holding it out to Hermione. “I think this is for you. I’m a genealogist. I do names and dates; bloodlines, you know. Not physics or mechanics. Especially not wizard physics and mechanics. I copied the diagram too, but I’m afraid it’s terrible. I’m not much of an artist.”

As she took the book from Julia, Hermione’s face showed an animation Harry had not seen there for a long time. She almost smiled.

“Thank you, Julia,” said Harry, “you’ve been a great help. I don’t think we would have discovered what was missing without you. Arthur, will you take Julia back to Grimmauld Place to collect her things?”

Julia smiled at him. “Don’t be a stranger, Harry. Come and see us soon, won’t you? Good luck with this.” Arthur held the door open for her, then followed her out.

“Can I just take a look at the book, H?” asked Harry. Hermione passed it to him and he skimmed through until he got to a sketchy and rather poorly drawn diagram. “Before you take this away, I’d like to show it to Hector, just to confirm this is the machine that was taken.”

.

The two of them made their way down to the Department of Mysteries. Harry paused for a moment waiting for the chills he always felt, but they failed to materialise and he smiled to himself.

“What’s that about then?” Hermione said suspiciously. “Why do you look so pleased with yourself?”

“Oh,” he said, “just in good spirits today.”

They entered the Time Room, and Hermione stopped beside the huge bell jar for a few moments. Bathed in the sharp light, she watched the tiny hummingbird repeatedly emerging from its egg, rising in the internal current to the top of the crystal dome, then falling down again until it returned to its beginning. “It never changes in here, Harry, have you noticed that? It’s as if every hour in here is the same as the one before.”

Harry knew what she meant. The sense of time passing was distorted in that place. He almost felt as if he could leave the room and find it was earlier than when he had entered.

They found Hector in a small cubicle at the end of the room, dusting a vast, intricately carved cuckoo clock with a little brush. Harry showed the book to him. Hector peered over the top of his spectacles. “Yes indeed,” he confirmed. “That is the Eversio machine, although this is a rather poorly executed representation, I have to say.”

.

.

It had been a long day, and it was late when Harry finally got home. The house was quiet and he undressed in the dark and slid into bed beside Ginny as unobtrusively as he could. He was pleasantly surprised when she turned into him, pulling him towards her. The nearly forgotten slide of the silky nightdress she had not worn in many months enhanced the smoothness of her skin.

“Mmmm,” he whispered, “this is nice.”

She wiggled against him enticingly. “I’ve got something to tell you,” she said.

“Oh?” said Harry, nuzzling her neck. He stopped. “Oh Gin, you’re not – you’re not pregnant again are you?”

She giggled. “Don’t be silly.” Harry couldn’t help feeling rather relieved.

“No,” her voice grew more serious. “I think Lily is ready to be weaned now. And – Harry I want to start my Quidditch training again. You don’t mind do you?”

“Mind?” he pulled her close again. “Of course I don’t mind. I think it’s a great idea.”

“I knew there was a reason I loved you so much,” murmured Ginny against his chest. He felt her tongue tracing a damp path over his shoulder and slipped his hand under her sheer nightdress, tracing the curve of her hip.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

From the next room he heard a young voice wail. “Mummy! Mummeee! I want a driiink!”

Harry stopped what he was doing and groaned. “Uurgh, no, not now, James. Stay here Ginny. Don’t move. And don’t go to sleep. Please, please don’t go to sleep.”

But by the time he had taken James a cup of water and settled him down, and Albus had decided he also needed a drink, Harry returned to bed to find Ginny snoring gently. Sighing in frustration, he slipped back into bed, and soon, he too was asleep.

.

 

 

 


	6. Seize Fast and Hither Bring.

 

** Chapter Six: Seize Fast and Hither Bring. **

****

A misty-windowed mobile classroom perched at the side of the old Layhill County Primary school building. Inside it, absent-mindedly scratching his initials into a desk with the point of a compass, Jack Hargreaves was a little perturbed.

His teacher, Miss Sharples, wore large spectacles, had plenty of curly fair hair and laughed a lot. On the whole, he quite liked her, but when she had announced that morning, with obvious pleasure, that they were to have Drama all afternoon, he was unimpressed.

He eyed the giggling and excited half of his class with distaste and nudged his friend Ollie in the ribs. “Let’s skive off,” he whispered.

Ollie scowled. “I’m not skiving. I like Drama.”

“Drama’s for girls!” Jack said, horrified.

“No it’s not,” said Ollie, stubbornly. “I like it.”

Stinging with betrayal, when the rest of the class had trotted energetically across the yard to the school hall for lunch, Jack hung back. He had a plan.

Games consoles were strictly not allowed at Jack’s school except for very rare occasions at the end of term, and this was not one of those. Nevertheless, Jack had brought his own into school, tucked safely into his backpack, positive he would find a chance to try his new game at some point during the day. Now, the opportunity beckoned irresistibly.

When he was sure no one was watching, he helped himself to a bag of crisps from Ollie’s bag in the cloakroom, confident that Ollie would not grass on a mate; then he dodged around the corner of the building. Checking furtively for any sign that he was observed, he shuffled with exaggerated stealth along the bottom of the wall and through the small, enclosed yard where the big wheeled dustbins smelled of mouldy orange peel and bleach. Sneaking through the little gate that pupils were not supposed to use, he made his way across the unkempt garden of the former schoolmaster’s house and out of the other side towards the church.

Skirting the edge of the churchyard, he found his favourite place in a neglected part of the graveyard where the grass was long and the mossy headstones were flaking and collapsed. This was an excellent place to go when he did not want to be disturbed by his peers, who reasonably enough supposed that the resting place of the dead would be haunted. Jack had shamelessly promoted this belief by recounting, when expedient, a comprehensive, terrifying, and completely fabricated tale of skeletal limbs seen thrusting through the turf, grasping blindly for the feet of unsuspecting children. Although Jack knew perfectly well that ghosts, along with giants, trolls and fairies weren’t real, he had lately reassessed his opinion about witches, and he liked to think of himself as open-minded.

It was a cold day, and the overcast sky threatened rain later. But for now, it was dry. Making himself comfortable against a crooked gravestone upon which the worn image of two snakes could just about be seen, Jack took his games console out of his bag and switched it on.

The words, ‘ _Arcturus Dark; Battle of Constellations’_ drifted across the screen and he smiled in happy anticipation. While the game loaded, he performed some small but important rituals.

 _Arcturus Dark ‒ Transgalactic Privateer_ , was the captain of a space ship called the _Terapene_ and he did not wear an eye patch or have a wooden leg or a parrot like an old-fashioned pirate. He had a bird-like personal surveillance drone called _POL1_ and instead of a cutlass he carried a laser gun, but like a proper pirate, _Arcturus Dark_ did wear a dashing bandana tied around his head.

As a role model, Jack thought he could not find better, and he aimed to emulate his hero as much as he could. A bit of a branch he had found on the side of the hill the previous summer was shaped a bit like _Arcturus Dark’s_ laser gun, and although he possessed a number of more sophisticated plastic versions, for some reason the simple wooden object pleased him more. In his hand, he felt that it belonged to him in a way he could never have tried to explain. By really concentrating, he could make a hot light appear at the end of it ‒ sometimes hot enough to set fire to things ‒ but that never worked with his plastic guns, although he had tried very hard indeed.

In his mum’s drawer, he had found a scarf he thought very suitable for use as a bandana, and taken the liberty of borrowing it; although he had neglected to ask first, being inclined to think that the answer would have been negative.

He pulled his belt out of the loops in his school trousers and arranged it so that it sat low on his skinny hips. After tucking his wooden laser gun into it and tying his mum’s scarf around his head, he settled back against the rough stone.

*

 _Arcturus Dark_ was performing a technically tricky martial arts manoeuvre on a sinister character wearing something resembling a welding mask, when Jack was distracted by a loud _crack_ behind him. Pausing his game and putting the handset down in annoyance, he peered around the gravestone to see what was happening.

A young woman he did not know was struggling with two men who were wearing long dark coats and strange hats. One of the men was very big ‒ quite fat in fact, and lumbering. He was holding on to the woman who managed to fasten her teeth on to his thumb. The fat man screeched like one of great-uncle Joe’s pigs, but the other man, who was thin and dark, said a very rude word, and did something that made the woman slump as if she had suddenly fallen asleep.

Jack knew _Arcturus Dark_ would never put up with this! Girls had to be rescued when they were in trouble. He jumped to his feet and ran at the men with a loud yell. The pair spun towards him, but before he reached them, he saw the dark man raise his hand, holding a stick. Jack felt as if he had run headlong into a wall, and everything went black.

.

**..............................................................................................**

.

 

The police station in Upper Layford was a grim sixties construction of tired grey concrete that squatted in the pretty town like an ugly grey gnome in a country garden.

The constable arriving for his shift greeted the sergeant at the desk. “Hiya, Sarge!”

“Well, don’t you just look like the cat who got the cream! Your date went well last night, then?”

“It did. Very well.” The constable smiled to himself, remembering how pretty Ilona had looked. How she had laughed at his jokes and shared his sticky toffee pudding, and how she had still tasted of butterscotch when he had kissed her goodnight.

He sobered, “How’s your granddad, Dawn?”

Oh,” she sighed. “No change. He doesn’t know who I am. Doesn’t even know who he is. My parents are stuck on a cruise ship in the middle of the Atlantic, and even if they could get back, there’s nothing they can do. But the good news is that my sister has managed to get a temporary transfer back to this country, so she’ll be able to visit, too. It’ll make things easier. She’s due to arrive this afternoon.”

“That is good news,” he agreed. “She’s been abroad somewhere, hasn’t she? In the military?”

“Chechnya,” Dawn nodded. It’s more like . . . um . . . Military Intelligence, you might say. It will be good to see more of her. Now then,” she changed the subject, picking up a sheet of paper. “This will wipe the smug look from your face, I’m afraid. This came in from Laybrook Court. One of the residents alleges a Peeping Tom has been spying on her, and insists on speaking to an officer personally. And on this occasion,” she gave him a benign smile. “That’s you.”

The constable viewed his sergeant with apprehension. “Please, Dawn, don’t tell me it’s Mrs Crump again. She does this about every three months, you know. Last time, she accused the electrician’s apprentice of looking up her skirt while he was fitting a plug socket. The poor lad is probably still traumatised. I know I am,” he added bitterly.

Dawn grinned. “It’s you she wants to see. In fact, she asked specially for ‒” she looked at the paper. ‘ _That nice young Bobby I saw last time’_.  Anyway doesn’t your girlfriend work up there?”

He cheered up. “Ilona’s not really my girlfriend. Well, not yet anyway.”

Dawn winked at him. “Time to make it official then. Go on, get away with you.”

.

.

 

The constable parked the car in a visitor’s bay on the neat gravelled drive. Laybrook Court was a handsome Victorian country house with a hint of Gothic revival architecture evident in its lancet arches and fanciful turrets. He climbed the shallow stone steps to the main entrance door in a wall laced with a net of bare Virginia creeper stems. To the side he could see through the stone-framed bay window into the residents’ day room, furnished with ubiquitous mismatched plastic reclining chairs. He recognised stout Mrs Crump, who batted her false eyelashes at him and gave a flirtatious little finger wiggle. He forced a smile and returned her wave.

Inside, the air smelt of cheap air freshener, not completely disguising the odour of disinfectant, boiled cabbage and urine. He signed in at the reception desk in the entrance hall, and Sandra, the manager, led him into the Day Room, pausing by the door.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “This is such a waste of time for you, but Mrs C was insistent. I suggested she might like to use my office for privacy, but she said she would rather speak to you in here. Between you and me, she doesn’t get many visitors. I think she wants the other residents to see her in action.”

He reassured her. “Don’t worry about it. All part of the service.” He drew a fortifying breath and approached Mrs Crump where she sat arranged by the window in shades of pink and white, like a giant marshmallow.

“Hello again, Mrs Crump,” he said heartily and was disconcerted when she lifted her powdered cheek in evident expectation of a kiss.  The constable wondered, where, in his job description, this fitted. Resigned, he obliged, with a skilful manoeuvre that just avoided his lips making contact with the layer of pancake make-up.

He pulled a chair over and sat down beside her, taking out his notebook and pen. “Now then, Mrs Crump,” he said.

“Ooh,” she cooed. “Do call me Esme.”

“Right. Of course. Esme. Can you tell me the nature of the complaint you wish to make?”

“Someone’s been watching me. Through my bedroom window.” She leaned towards him and lowered her voice to a seductive purr. “Undressing”. She sat back and folded her hands across her extensive chest. “What do you think about that?”

The constable was finding it difficult to concentrate. One of Mrs Crump’s false eyelashes had become partly detached and wobbled below her eyebrow like a millipede. “We’ll certainly investigate,” he promised. “We take reports of such things extremely seriously. Which floor is your room on?”

Mrs Crump gave him a beaming smile, her false teeth perfectly even and white in shiny pink gums. She patted his knee ‒ rather too fondly, he felt, and he wondered how to move out of reach without appearing rude.

I’m on the second floor,” she said. “At the back. Overlooking the shrubbery. It will be the window cleaner,” she added conspiratorially.

“Oh? How often has this happened?”

She gave a little sigh with every appearance of pleasure. “All the time,” she said. “Every night.” She grew coy. “As I perform my regular toilette.”

This was something the constable preferred not to dwell on. “Well,” he snapped his notebook shut and smartly slipped it into his pocket. “Thank you for reporting this matter, Mrs ‒ ah ‒ Esme. We will certainly interview the window cleaner and see what he’s got to say for himself.”

“You’ll keep me informed won’t you?” she said. “The personal touch is always appreciated.”

“Of course,” he promised, hoping he would be able to delegate the task to a probationer even more junior than himself. He shook her talon-like hand pretending not to notice the offered cheek and made his way back out to the hallway.

He was just about to sign out at the desk when a distant cry of alarm drew his attention. Exchanging a curious glance with the receptionist, he went to the foot of the sweeping staircase and called, “Is everything all right up there?”

Sandra appeared on the landing. “Oh Officer, you’re still here! No, not really.” She called down to the reception desk. “Sue, will you call the call the doctor right away please!” She lowered her voice. Mrs Smith has ‒ passed on.”

Do you need an ambulance?

Sandra shook her head. “No, there is no sign of life. But I must admit, it’s very strange.”

“Shall I take a look?”

Please do, I’m sure there’s nothing we can do but it’s certainly unusual. Come on up.”

She showed him into a bedroom by the top of the stairs. “I heard the oddest noise coming from in here,” she explained. “A sort of ‒ popping! It sounded like a firework or something. Then when I tried to open the door, it was locked! I had to go and get a key, and when I got back and opened the door, I found her lying on her bed - dead!”

The officer quickly glanced around the small bedsitting room, recognising that it had once been part of a more generously proportioned chamber. The window was oddly positioned at one end of the wall opposite, and an incongruously large marble fireplace dominated the room with a faded, nest-like arrangement of artificial foliage in the hearth.

The body was lying on the bed and he recoiled in shock. The wrinkled face of the dead woman was fixed in a rictus of terror, the clawed hands held up stiffly in a defensive gesture. Rigor mortis already? He tried to find a pulse in the neck and found the body still warm, but hard. Solid. It was like trying to find a pulse in a statue. He put his ear to the half-open mouth but could not detect a breath. The woman was undoubtedly dead.

The door opened and he looked up as a slight, brown haired woman came in. “The doctor is on his way. Can I help, Sandra? What’s ‒ Oh lord! What happened to Ellen? Is she ‒ good heavens ‒ is she dead?”

Sandra nodded. “She was like this when I came in.” She peered at something and pulled a wooden stick out of the corpse’s grasp. “What on earth is this, do you think? Whatever was she trying to do with it?”

The constable felt the blood drain from his face and put his hand against the headboard for support as the foundations of his familiar world trembled with unwelcome recognition. The other woman looked disturbed, and their eyes met. What did she know? He pulled himself together and held his hand out. “I’ll take that. Evidence.”

Sandra handed the stick to him. “Evidence of what?”

“Foul play?” he said, hopefully.

“Surely not!” said Sandra. She studied the body again. “She must have had some sort of seizure. I need to get some forms ready for when the doctor arrives. Do you mind just waiting for a minute?”

As soon as the door had closed behind Sandra, the other woman came over to the bed. She looked across at the police officer for a moment as if thinking, then she leaned over the body. “Ellen,” she said, “I know you and I didn’t get along too well, but I can’t leave you like this.” She visibly drew a deep breath, grimaced and put her hand on the old woman’s chest. With a terrifying sigh, the air was expelled from the lungs of the corpse, the stiffness left it and the body collapsed into a limp heap.

The policeman’s bemused gaze met the woman’s. “What? How the ‒?”

She shook her head slightly and was about to speak, but at that moment the door opened and Sandra came in carrying a file. She stared at the body in disbelief, her mouth opening and closing in astonishment. “What happened? She didn’t look like that a minute ago?”

“Oh,” the other woman waved her hand vaguely, “I suppose the muscles must have relaxed ‒ or something.”

“Really? I’ve never seen anything like that!”

 Sandra walked back over to the bed and stood looking at the body with her arms crossed over her chest as if she was cold. “It’s always very upsetting,” she said. “I know it happens; it’s an occupational hazard, but still ‒” her brow creased and she looked up at the constable in puzzlement. “Now, that’s strange!”

“What is?”

“Her necklace. It’s gone!”

“Oh? Are you sure?”

“She never took it off. Never! Not even to take a bath.”

“That’s right!” the second woman came over to look. “I remember. She was forever fiddling with it!” She pointed. “There are marks at the side of her neck as if it has been pulled off!”

The constable peered closely. She was correct.

“It’s not a significant injury though,” he said. “I don’t see how it could have caused this. What was the necklace like anyway?”

“Well it didn’t seem like anything much at all,” said Sandra. “It was about the size of a large coin, but it wasn’t gold – or any other precious metal as far as I could tell. It didn’t have any stones in it either. To be honest, it seemed very much like the sort of thing my brother finds out metal detecting. Corroded, I suppose.”

“Was it an antique then?”

“Hmm.” She was doubtful. “It was like – I don’t know, a wheel or a cog of some sort. It didn’t really look like a piece of jewellery, you know? The only thing I think might have been worth stealing is still here.” She indicated an ornament on a side table.

The police officer looked at where she pointed. A light coloured stand ‒ carved bone he guessed ‒about as high as a wine glass, was formed into the likeness of a pair of cupped hands. In them rested two glassy balls the size of horse chestnuts. A black one, and a slightly smaller green one.

“What are these? Marbles?” He took them from the stand and held them up against the window. The black one, he realised, had purple lights moving inside it, and the green one, faint yellow sparkles. He replaced them in their cradle. “Interesting.”

“The girls call them ‘Ellen’s Gobstoppers’. They look a bit big for marbles, don’t you think?” said Sandra. “Carpet bowls maybe? Or just ornaments. They’re very pretty anyhow.”

There was a tap at the door, and Sue from Reception showed the doctor in. He took a cursory look at the body of the old woman and half-heartedly felt for a pulse.

“Definitely dead.” He regarded the police officer distrustfully as he took the file Sandra held out to him. “I fail to see why this needed the law. Mrs Smith had a known heart condition, I saw her less than a fortnight ago.”

“I already happened to be here about something else,” explained the constable.

“Right-oh.” The doctor took a pen from his breast pocket. “Heart failure then, wouldn’t you agree?”

The policeman nodded, doubtfully. He didn’t see how that conclusion could technically be wrong.

The doctor donned a pair of reading glasses, and sat down at the dressing table. “Time of death noted at‒” He looked at his watch,” twelve thirty.” He scribbled on a sheet of paper, which he passed back to Sandra. “There you go. All very straightforward. I’ll get off now ‒ I can show myself out.”

.

The young constable scrutinised the few of Ellen’s personal belongings he could see without rudely rummaging in the drawers. Tucked inside an old paperback, he found a single, tattered, unframed photograph. It showed a dark haired, unhappy looking man who appeared to be in his early thirties.

He showed it to Sandra. “Do you know who this is?”

She pursed her lips. “I don’t know. Her son, perhaps? I understand he died some years ago. Before she came to us.”

“Next of kin then? Someone will have to be informed.”

“Yes of course. There’s no point staying in here. I don’t suppose the funeral director will arrive for at least half an hour. Come down to my office. Julia, would you like to come too?”

Sandra flicked through the drawer of a filing cabinet, muttering “Smith, Smith ‒ ah, here we are.” She pulled a folder out and sat down with it. “How extraordinary!” she said. “Ellen’s next of kin is listed as ‒” she blinked in bewilderment, “Isaac Prewett!”

The constable saw a look of surprise on the other woman’s – Julia’s ‒ face. “Isaac?” she said. “I didn’t realise they even knew each other!”

“No,” agreed Sandra. “I don’t recall him ever visiting. How odd. I’ll give him a ring in a few minutes.”

Feeling the wand he had tucked into an inside pocket, the officer avoided catching Julia’s eye. “I’ll be getting off now. Do you think I could have a quick word with Ilona before I go?”

Sandra raised her eyebrows. “Of course. I’m not sure where she is, I’ll see if I can find her for you.”

A few minutes later, she was back, looking worried. “This is very peculiar,” she said. “Ilona was supposed to help Ellen get washed and changed before lunch, but no-one seems to know where she is. Let me call her mobile.”

Sandra flicked the cover off her phone, pressed a couple of buttons and held it to her ear. “It’s ringing.” She opened the door and walked out into the corridor.

“I can hear it, I think,” she said, and the three of them followed the faint noise. With every step that took him back the way he had just come, the police officer’s anxiety increased until he opened the door into Ellen’s room and could hear the ringtone more clearly. He lifted the valance of the bed and picked the ringing phone up from the floor beneath.

He held it out, speechless, and the three of them stared at it in mystified dismay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were of a mind to know more about Arcturus Dark; Transgalactic Privateer, and his adventures, you will find the 'Pilot Episode' here in my works, too.


	7. Dolorous Prison

 

** Chapter Seven: Dolorous Prison. **

 

Sensation crawled back into Jack’s extremities. The worst pins and needles of his life teemed like ants’ nests in his feet and hands, but without doubt, this was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him. He felt rather anxious, but more curious than scared.

Beneath him he could feel a cold, gritty stone floor, and on his back, the roughness of bare bricks chafed through his school sweater. He had been propped against a wall and his wrists were tied together. His eyes were watering and everything was blurry, but by blinking hard and squinting, after a while, he managed to focus.

The only daylight seeped from windows set high into the walls just below the roof, and of those, the ones which were not broken or boarded up, were very dirty. A light seemed to be shining from somewhere else, casting a dirty orange glow, but Jack could not see a light bulb anywhere.

The woman he had seen struggling with the kidnappers in the churchyard was next to him, also tied. Her face was ashen with terror, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. She started to sob.

Seated near them, at a table improvised from wooden crates, a lanky man had his hands protectively clasped around something that looked like the inside of a clock. He had dull, brown hair going grey at the temples with a bald patch on top of his head, and he stared at them as if he had never seen their like before. His round spectacles seemed to be loose, for he was constantly pushing them up his pointed nose.

There were several other people in the room. One of them said, “This is a child. Whose idea was this? I do not harm children!”

Jack could not see who had spoken, for he was in shadow, but the man’s voice was rough and he spoke with a foreign accent between harsh gasps.

“‘E seen us,” protested another ‒ the largest one. Jack recognised the man who the woman had bitten in the churchyard. “We didn’t ‘ave time to make ‘im forget. An’ anyway look what ‘appened with the old feller the other day.”

“What have you done?” moaned another voice. “Kidnapping! This wasn’t part of the plan!”

Jack could see this man better. He was younger than the rest, with long, fair hair tied into a ponytail. He was wearing normal-looking clothes, not a long coat like most of the others.

“The old woman is dead!” said a thin, dark man who Jack recognised as the other abductor. “This is no time for weakness. We use what we need! Hostages may be useful!” This man twitched as if he could not quite keep still. He wore a long, rather tattered, dark robe and kept scratching and picking at his forearm which was scabbed and bleeding. Jack thought it was disgusting. The sobbing grew louder.

 “Dead!” said the fair-haired man. His voice shook. “Now we are guilty of murder as well as kidnapping! Morrigan’s tits, how do we get out of this mess?”

Jack was interested to know as well. He wished the woman beside him would stop weeping so that he could listen properly. With his elbow, he gave her a hopeful nudge but it had no effect.

“Stupid!” exclaimed a sharp, high-pitched voice. “Stupid people should do as they was told! You was not to hurt anybody!”

For the first time, Jack noticed the sixth member of the gang. He had never seen anything like it before ‒ not in real life anyway, and he was very excited. It was a real, genuine alien! As small as one of the Reception class infants in his school, it had leathery grey skin, large bat-like ears with a tracery of blue veins, and watery, bulbous eyes. Jack was sure it was an alien; what else, after all, could it possibly be?

The breathless man spoke again from the shadows. “Take them and lock them in the furnace room while we discuss this. Untie them; they will not escape. First, give me the key to the machine!”

The thin man with the scabs on his arm reached into the pocket of his long coat and took out a small object that hung on a fine chain. He dangled it before his face and his mouth formed a peculiar smile, showing teeth stained dark. His eyes rolled back slightly in his head. “My Lord,” he whispered, “your servant.”

“Tony!” The exclamation made the man blink and appear confused. “The key!” The breathless man held out his hand, and, looking bewildered, the thin man dropped the object into it.

The small figure’s shrill voice was commanding. “You two,” it pointed with a long, bony finger, “is taking the woman and the child and locking them in the furnace room. And giving them blankets so they is not too cold. And you is getting some Muggle food for them.”

“What food do Muggles eat, anyhow?” said the fat man, scowling.

The fair man viewed him with scorn. “They eat the same food as everyone else, you dolt.”

The two men who had taken them from the churchyard pulled Jack and the woman to their feet. Roughly, they were shoved through a door into a long, gloomy chamber scattered with odd bits of discarded rusty machinery, and then through another door into a dark, cold room. The woman was still crying.  Jack could not see properly but one of the men mumbled something in a strange language and the binds around their wrists fell away without being touched. He heard more unfamiliar words and something soft landed on the floor at his feet. Then the men left the room and as the door closed behind them, Jack heard another mutter and a solid click.

Gradually, Jack’s eyes adjusted to the near-darkness and after waiting for a little while longer, he tried the door handle to check if they really were locked in. They were. He peered about. In the gloom, he could just distinguish shadowy, unidentifiable shapes around them. Unable to see what he was doing, he felt around with his feet until he encountered something yielding on the floor and picked it up, finding a thick, rough textured blanket. He shuffled about and discovered another, which he thrust towards the sound of weeping.

“You’d best stop cryin’,” he said, helpfully. “I can’t think how to get out, if you’re cryin’ all the time.”

 

 

* * *

 

.

.

In the Ministry, Harry was on his way to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, when an interdepartmental memo summoned him to Kingsley’s office again.

 

An attractive but rather tough-looking strawberry-blonde woman of about his own age was sitting in one of the two chairs opposite Kingsley, but stood as Harry entered. She was slightly taller than him, and was not wearing witch’s robes, but some sort of military uniform. Harry thought she seemed faintly familiar, but could not put his finger on how he knew her.

“Harry,” said Kingsley, “Sally-Anne is temporarily on our staff. I thought you might be able to make use of her?”

“Sally Anne?” Harry shook the woman’s hand.

“You don’t remember me do you, Harry?” said the woman.

“Ah, you do seem familiar, but – oh! It’s Sally-Anne Perks isn’t it! Merlin, it must be, what, fifteen years?”

She nodded. “My dad took me out of Hogwarts in the second year. I went to America for a bit, then finished my education at the Rasputin in Russia.”

“Ah!” Harry was interested. “The military academy? I’ve heard about it.”

She nodded. “Since I finished my training I’ve been posted in a number of places in Russia and Eastern Europe. Mostly Muggle troubleshooting, you know. I’ve been working in Chechnya recently.”

“Ouch! Messy,” said Harry, impressed. So what brings you back here?”

Sally Anne looked sombre. “My granddad was assaulted a few days ago and is in hospital. He’s ninety-four and quite frail. My sister is quite close, but she has to work. Our parents are stuck on a cruise ship in the middle of the Atlantic and won’t be able to get back for a week, so I’ve come back to help for a few days. Kingsley says he thinks the DMLE will find something for me to do while I’m here? I’ve had quite a lot of experience in Muggle liaison and damage limitation.”

“Good to know. I’m sure we’ll be keeping you busy.” Harry shook her hand again. “We’ll catch up later.”

.

The Head Auror’s office was large and comfortable. Once, it had been a tidy and efficient space, but now it was no longer either. Idly, Harry mused on why he had never mastered the art of personal organisation.

His office window showed a peaceful, shadowy wood that reminded him of the Forbidden Forest. The weather within it changed regularly but unpredictably, and today, golden sunlight filtered through the tracery of branches, settling in puddles of warmth on the carpet of leaves.

He surveyed the pile of documents in his in-tray with something approaching despair and exhaled through pursed lips. Being Head Auror had sounded great, but no-one had warned him about the sheer amount of bureaucracy it entailed. Resigned, he took a document at random from near the top of the pile and began reading it. The Hogwarts School motif twinkled gently at the top of the page. ‘ _Theft of plants from the greenhouses at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’_ it said.

He shook his head. This hardly seemed important enough to merit Auror involvement. He looked at the date. Nearly a month ago. Well, by this time, it was hardly worth following up in any case. He considered his response, found some Auror’s Office headed notepaper, took out his quill and started to write.

‘ _To whom it may concern. Re; theft of plant material from greenhouse: At this time we consider pursuance of the matter not to be in the public interest and therefore do not propose to take further action. Sincerely Yours, H. Potter (Head Auror)’._ He put the letter in his empty out-tray with a sense

of achievement and riffled through his in-tray again, looking for Hermione’s report. He felt he should make an effort to familiarise himself with it in case she asked him about it. He located it near the bottom of the pile, and was shocked to notice that it was dated nearly eight months previously.

‘ _The Granger-Weasley report Into prison conditions and offender rehabilitation within the jurisdiction of Wizarding Britain’_ , he read. Coffee, he thought, getting up again. He would need coffee to tackle this.

He returned with a large, steaming mug a few minutes later and began to read.

_‘This report was compiled with the assistance of current and former staff and prisoners of the Wizarding prison of Azkaban._

_‘Introduction: It is commonly known that the history of the prison, formerly a giants’ garrison, dates back some six hundred years to the death of the Dark Wizard Ekrizdis. Following the adoption of the International Statute of Secrecy, the garrison was brought into general use as a secure prison for the incarceration of Wizarding criminals. There has been little in the way of modernisation or reform for some three hundred years. It has been argued that institutional complacency within the DMLE might have contributed to the strength of support for Voldemort during the Second War._

_Part 1. The buildings that comprise Azkaban Prison have long been neglected, are in a generally poor state of repair, and require an extensive scheme of renovation and reconstruction. At the present time, as has historically been the case, inmates are housed in bare and poorly heated shared cells. It cannot be surprising, therefore, that relations between prisoners have the potential to become interdependent and unhealthy._

_Following the cessation of Dementor activity, over the last decade more progressive policies have been adopted. I am happy to report that the widespread sexual and emotional abuse of vulnerable prisoners (activities traditionally disregarded – even tolerated ‒ by the authorities) has declined significantly in recent years. The development of close relationships between inmates is nowadays discouraged, following apparent cases of collusion (for example, see DMLE report 07/93 MZ/SB).’_  

Harry grimaced to himself, preferring not to think about such things. He glanced at several unforgiving photographs of bare stone walls and floors, dead birds and desiccated vermin, rotten timbers and holes in roofs, skipped through the rest of the section and moved on.

_‘Part 2: The traditional approach to criminal activity in the British Wizarding world remains embedded in the archaic practices of the past. Inflexible and antiquated, all those convicted of criminal acts are punished by incarceration in the prison of Azkaban.  Following the removal of the Dementors after they had proved to be unreliable, discipline and control has been increasingly enforced by the allocation of various potions intended to calm and sedate disorderly inmates._

_With the difficulty in obtaining trained and committed staff, a succession of short-term, temporary governors and a decline in general morale, the use of such potions has become ubiquitous. Of particular note, consumption of a powerful sedative called Solatium (known, in common parlance, as ‘Malevolence’), has significantly increased. Although effective when administered sparingly, the potion was never intended for long-term use, having severely addictive properties and a cumulative toxic effect. In addition, a small number of wizards are known to have developed extreme psychological disorders associated with its ingestion. Disturbingly, over the last few years, the use of this potion has reached almost epidemic proportions among prisoners.’_

The next paragraphs looked complicated and boring, so Harry skipped those too, and turned to the last page.

_‘Conclusion: The systems of magical law enforcement have been unaltered for centuries. The changing nature of our society has resulted in many shifts in attitude. Modern Muggle technology makes our own methods of transport and communication seem increasingly quaint and inadequate. There has been a systemic failure to recognise entrenched problems and consider alternative strategies. Post-battle, and stress-induced psychological problems have been ignored, and support for ex-prisoners is inadequate. Recent attempts to instigate a more formal system of record keeping and accountability have had the unwanted effect of causing increased resentment and dissatisfaction among the staff. Fundamental reform of the systems and procedures is long overdue._

_‘NB: This report should be read in conjunction with ‘Forward Into Progress: the Percival Weasley recommendations on custodial sentencing and prisoner rehabilitation’._

Without enthusiasm, Harry began to leaf through the pile, looking for Percy’s report but he was interrupted by the unannounced entrance of Ron.

“You’re supposed to knock,” Harry grumbled. “I’m Head Auror. Show a little respect.”

Ron sniggered and made himself comfortable on a chair, putting his feet up on Harry’s desk. Harry batted them off.

Hermione wants to see you today, Harry,” said Ron. “Any chance you can you go over?”

Harry looked at his overflowing in-tray. “Absolutely,” he said. “I can go now.”

.

.

 

Hermione looked considerably brighter than at his previous visit. In fact, she looked more animated than Harry had seen her for years. Hermione, he understood, needed challenge, but the daily battle against the tedium of raising children was ruining her. He looked about. Crookshanks did not appear to have moved since his last visit but there was no sign of Hugo and Rosie.

“They’re with my parents,” she said, recognising his unspoken question. “I needed to concentrate. Sit down, Harry, I’ve got a lot to tell you. You’ll have to pay attention. I’ve owled a copy of my notes to Kingsley ‒ he needs to know about this too. This,” she tapped Julia’s notebook, “is a decent bit of work. Very thorough – as far as it goes. Julia should be commended.” 

“I’ll tell her,” said Harry. “She’ll be pleased. Are you going to tell me what you’ve found?”

“Of course I am. There is something else I need to check, but I wanted to tell you what I’ve got so far. I can’t vouch for the accuracy of it. It’s - to be blunt Harry, it’s ridiculous, but anyway . . . The document that Julia copied was a set of notes made by the seventeenth century Muggle antiquarian and academic, John Aubrey.”

Harry must have looked blank, because Hermione sighed and said, “He discovered the ancient temple at Avebury, among other things?” Harry tried to look as if this made things clearer.

“The notes he made were in part a translation of a very ancient document he was convinced had come from the Library at Alexandria.” She looked at him, expectantly.

“Oh, of course,” said Harry. “Quite so.”

“Aubrey begins with a description of how he came across the original book.” Hermione opened Julia’s notebook and read. _“‘My good friend, Mr Pepys, had spoke to me of the library that was kept in the ancient abbey of Saint Wergrim in the City of London. Knowing of my great interest in such matters, he gained a special dispensation for me to study some of the documents held therein. To my delight, I discovered several volumes the scholars at the abbey said had been rescued from the ancient library at Alexandria.’_ Then there is a short essay on the three sources of magic, although he doesn’t call it magic. Being a Muggle, he wouldn’t. He simply calls it ‘energy’.”

“Three sources?”

“Harry, surely you remember when Professor Binns told us about the theory?” She raised her eyebrows. “You don’t remember, do you?”

Harry saw no point in denying this and shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m glad to see your intellectual abilities are not impaired,” Hermione said, waspishly. “The three different sources are described here,” she indicated the book. The first is Old Magic, the _Eald_ - _wyrd_ energy. This is the strongest magic of all but it is fixed and immovable. We can tap into it but we can’t change or destroy it. This sort of magic is mostly concerned with the existence of the soul after death. That is why our magic is ineffective against ghosts and why the Veil is such a powerful thing.”

All of a sudden, Harry desperately wished he could discuss Sirius’s return with Hermione.  

“The next source is _Ielfe-wyrcan_ energy. This is the power that magical beings such as elves and goblins use. It is strong but rather inflexible. It can work in conjunction with wizard magic, but wizard magic does not directly affect it. Very few wizards have been able to utilise it. That is why Gringotts’ and other goblin institutions are so secure.” Harry nodded.

“Then there is wizard magic. Aubrey calls it _Leode-wyrcan_ energy. This is the most versatile but also the most volatile form of magic. It is the one we usually channel through our wands or other devices but it is receptive to other forms of manipulation and can be rendered ineffective in certain circumstances.”

“Oh?” This was new to Harry, and probably, he realised, something he should make it his business to know.

“Now get this,” she continued. “You won’t believe it and neither do I, but this is what it says next. I’m quoting Aubrey’s translation from the ancient Greek.” She drew a deep breath.

_“‘In the days when great ice mountains covered much of the earth, There was a land to the south, rich in natural resources and governed by a race who held a mysterious power and ruled its people without mercy. There were those living in the land who became resentful of its rulers and they created machines to evert and to store the power and then to turn it upon the hated rulers as a weapon. But the creators of the machines did not truly understand or appreciate the power of the things they had made. The force they unleashed was so immense that the whole country began to shiver. Deep, fiery crevasses opened in the ground and many of the citizens died from the poisonous vapours that discharged from the subterranean void.  
Afraid of discovery, the architects of the devastation secretly took the machines aboard a ship bound for the north. But as they set sail, a great fire leaped from the top of a mountain and a wave higher than the very top of the lighthouse sank the ship before it had left the harbour. After a time the land fell beneath the waves and no trace of it was left. Such survivors as there were, made their way in little boats to other lands; those of the ruling race were said to have settled on Hyperborea.’”_

She stopped as if waiting for a response. Then with an impatient tut, she prompted him. “Atlantis, Harry?”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “No, Hermione! That’s crazy!”

“Yes it is,” she agreed. “It’s completely ridiculous, but this is what the document says. And after that is the diagram of the Eversio machine. Julia’s drawing is just a sketch. I have a feeling Aubrey’s copy of the original is very much more detailed. But if, as Hector said, this is what was stolen from the Ministry, that is probably why they wanted the document too. I think it is a sort of instruction manual!”

Harry scratched his head. “So, H, do you think that the Eversio machine is one of the ones that-” he felt stupid saying it, “‒ destroyed Atlantis?”

“Of course I don’t, Harry,” said Hermione, scornfully. “That’s ludicrous. But I do think that is what Grindelwald believed.”

.

.

 

 

 

 


	8. Poor Miserable Captive

 

**Chapter Eight: Poor Miserable Captive.**

Rain rattled on the roof, and somewhere in the shadows, water was dripping on to metal with a hollow and repetitive clinking. Just enough light permeated a cracked skylight for Jack and the woman in the room with him to see each other.

Her name, she told him, was Ilona and she worked at Laybrook Court. She had surprised the men doing something to one of the old ladies she looked after, but before she could raise the alarm she had found herself struggling with them in the churchyard.

She shook her head in bafflement. “I not know how they do it, but it make me feel very poorly. Nearly like I going to die.” She pulled the blanket tightly around herself and shivered. “I drop my phone too,” she sighed, “or maybe we could ring police. I expect they already looking for you though, Jack.”

Jack shook his head miserably. “They’ll think I’m just skivin’ off again. Now I’ve lost me game. Outside. An’ it’s rainin’. An’ I only had it since Christmas.” His throat felt tight.  

“Oh,” said Ilona, “I am sure your mum and dad will get you another one when you get home.” Her voice wobbled.

“I ‘aven’t got a dad,” said Jack.

“Oh!” said Ilona. “Haven’t you got one at all?”

Jack shook his head. “Me mam says I don’t need one.”

“You have not got any brothers or sisters then?”

“Nah,” said Jack. “It’s just me an’ me mam.”

Ilona took hold of his hand and Jack felt a bit embarrassed, but at the same time, he quite liked it.

“I have little brother about your age, back at home. I not seen him for more than a year.” Her eyes started to fill with tears again. She swallowed and wiped her cheeks. “Have you got a girlfriend then, Jack?”

Jack looked at her in astonishment and pulled his hand out of hers. “I’m only ten,” he explained. “An’ anyway, girls are stupid.”

“Well,” Ilona tried to smile. “Maybe one day you not think so. Are all girls stupid?”

He considered. “My friend Megan’s not stupid.” To avoid confusion, he clarified, “but she’s not my girlfriend.”

Ilona seemed to expect more. Jack thought she was nice and wanted to say something interesting. He lowered his voice. “Megan can do magic! But it’s a secret!”

“Oh that is nice story, Jack.”

“You think I’m fibbin’!” Jack was indignant. “I’m not, she really can! She’s got a wand an’ everythin’ an’ she goes to a proper magic school in a castle where she learns to do spells an stuff. An’,” he lowered his voice further to a theatrical whisper, “I can do magic too! I’m special good at makin’ fires. See‒” He took his wooden laser gun out of his waistband and stuck his tongue firmly between his teeth in intense concentration, until the end grew hot and began to glow with a soft pink light. A few purple sparks drifted from it.

“Oh Jack, that is very pretty! Very clever!” She leaned towards him. “Can you do magic to get us out?”

He was glum. “I don’t think so. I’ve bin practisin’, but I need a proper wand. I had a go with Megan’s at Christmas, an’ I made some sparks come outta the end and burnt a hole in the carpet.” He paused briefly, in recollection of a private and difficult moment. “But I couldn’t do owt else. Megan says when I have my birthday, I’ll get a special letter and then I can go to that school what she goes to and learn proper magic. You mustn’t tell anyone though! Promise!”

“I promise, Jack,” said Ilona. “Who believe me anyway? I just ignorant farm girl from Lithuania. Who care if I study at college for years to be dental nurse? They think I still just ignorant farm girl.” She started crying again. “Why you think they kidnap us, Jack? I not have any money.”

“They’re aliens,” he informed her. “That little ‘un is.” His voice rose with unholy glee. “They’re prob’ly goin’ to do all sorts of ‘speriments on us. But don’t worry Ilona,” he added kindly. “I’ll rescue you.”

She was not convinced. “This not look much like inside of space ship, I think?” Jack’s face fell in doubt as he looked around. She was right. It did not look at all like the inside of a space ship. From the little he could see in the gloom, it looked like a messy old workshop with a leaky roof.

“And I not so sure, you know,” she continued. “I think it is goblin.”

“Goblins aren’t real!” he sneered.

“I not sure,” she repeated.

“It feels like tea time,” said Jack. “I only had a packet of crisps for me dinner. Me mam will be wondering where I am.” He was overcome with homesickness and misery. In addition, his Arcturus Dark ensemble included his mother’s scarf, which he was keen to return before she noticed its absence.

“Oh Jack, you so brave.” Ilona drew him into a hug, and for a moment he allowed himself to be comforted against her soft bosom. “I forget you just little boy.”

That spurred him out of his depression. _Little boy?_

Ilona sat on a plank she had found, which was not ‒ so she said ‒ as cold as the floor, and leaned against a brick pillar as she watched him exploring the room. A steel hatch hung open on one wall and he peered into the dark space beyond. He could smell soot and reached inside waving his arm around. He could not touch the back of the cavity.

They heard the lock of the door being released. Jack’s natural instinct was to avoid drawing unwelcome attention to himself, and he jumped away and sat down as the door swung open. The big man came in carrying a cardboard box containing some plastic bottles and packages wrapped in paper, which he put down on the floor.

“Food,” he said briefly and left again. Jack investigated with growing approval. “McDonalds!” he said. “Me mam takes me there for me birthday sometimes.” He felt sad again, but he was very hungry. He passed a package to Ilona who was less enthusiastic, but sighed and unwrapped it.

Jack enjoyed the sweet fizzy drink too; those were a rare treat at home ‒ but Ilona made a face. “This terrible stuff,” she said. “You know if you put a tooth in a glass of this and leave it overnight, all of the tooth will have dissolved next morning?”

Jack thought that was a very interesting fact and wondered where he could get hold of a tooth in order to test her claim. He wasn’t expecting to lose any more of his own teeth except in case of accident. When they had escaped from here, he might approach one of the Junior Twos at school.

A little while later, the man who Jack had privately taken to thinking of as ‘Pig-face’ came back carrying a bucket. He put it down and gave it a kick.

“For your ‒ convenience,” he smirked.

After momentary initial disbelief, Ilona’s voice grew strident with indignation and rage, her previous flat discouragement replaced by fury. “You want me to pee in bloody bucket? I am not peeing in bloody bucket! Even on my grandparents’ farm in Lithuania I not have to pee in bloody bucket!”

The prospect did not bother Jack so much; he thought it was probably a girl thing. Like crying and giggling. But in fury, Ilona picked up a piece of clinker from the floor and threw it with excellent aim at Pig-face’s chest.  He looked down in surprise, taken aback. “Uh, I’ll ‘ave to go and ask the Chief. Stay where yer are.”

Some minutes later he returned accompanied by the fair-haired kidnapper, and with a resentful air, they led Jack and Ilona outside to a toilet in another building across the cobbled yard. The door hung crooked on one hinge, and there were holes in the roof and fungus growing on the wall; but it offered a degree more civilization and privacy than a bucket and Ilona did not bother to complain again. While he waited for her, Jack took his mum’s scarf from his head and tied it round his neck so he would not lose it. Surreptitiously, he observed his surroundings. The weather had improved, and the setting sun touched the angry clouds with fire and threw the tall chimney that loomed over them into silhouette. He looked up at it with interest. It was very tall, even higher than the tower of Layhill Church. The buildings around the courtyard he was standing in were dilapidated and some of them were in ruins. The surface he was standing on was made of hard grey bricks with moss and tufts of grass growing between them. In places, small trees had seeded into gaps and the roots were lifting the bricks, making the ground uneven.

Behind him, the two men were grumbling at each other and paid him little attention. Jack considered making a dash for freedom, but Arcturus Dark would never desert Ilona in this situation, so Jack thought he had better stay and rescue her.

When they had been locked back in the furnace room, he dragged a broken pallet against a wall, sat down on it and wrapped one of the rough blankets around himself. Ilona left her plank and sat next to him. “Move over,” she said gently, and put her arm around his shoulders. He leaned into her warmth, and thought about being at home until he nearly cried. Then he thought about Megan instead.

Megan was okay for a girl. She was a bit weird, it was true, but she was still all right. She was good at finding things. Last spring she had found Miss Sharples’ car key in the school hamster cage, and once on a wet playtime when they had been doing a jigsaw puzzle together, she had said to him in a loud whisper, “ _If you ever get lost Jack, I’ll find you too. All you got to do is think about me real hard, and then I’ll find you_.”

“ _That’s daft_ ,” he had said. “ _You can’t do things like that. Them sorta things aren’t real_.” The corners of her mouth had turned down and her lower lip had stuck out a bit, but to his relief she had not mentioned it again.

Jack’s mum thought Megan’s mum was a bit weird too. Said she was ‘ _stuck-up’_ and had ‘ _more money than sense_ ’. According to his own mum, Megan’s mum had ‘ _taken a tramp in off the street’_ , and then done a thing called ‘ _shacked up_ ’ with him. Megan had already started calling him Dad. Jack sometimes thought he would quite like a dad himself.

His mum would be lonely now, without Jack there. She would be sad and worried. A hot tear oozed from the corner of his eye.

He thought about Megan, just as she had told him to, and he thought about how he did not want his mum to be sad, and he thought very hard about what the big chimney rising up from the ruined buildings had looked like when they were outside. Then he asked himself how Arcturus Dark would go about rescuing Ilona and defeating the villains, and wondered how long it would take to dig a tunnel using one of the rusty bits of metal that were lying about on the floor. As the last of the daylight faded, he dropped into an uncomfortable and restless doze.

 

 .

* * *

 

.

In the Upper Layford branch of the Mid-Mercia Constabulary, Detective Inspector Price folded his arms and addressed the agitated constable. “I know you are concerned,” he said in his soothing Welsh accent, “but we can’t open a missing person’s case until we have established that this woman is actually missing. For all we know, she was just having a bad day and stormed off in a huff.” 

“Ilona’s not like that, Guv!”                          

“Oh, and how do you know that?”

“Her housemate is worried too!” The constable yanked his hat off and raked his fingers through his hair. “And her employer! No one has heard from her. It’s completely out of character for her to go missing!”

“I’m sorry, son, but it’s only been a few hours, and we have to follow the rules. There was no sign of any intrusion was there? The doctor saw nothing suspicious in the old woman’s death did he?”

“Well, no, but‒”

“Are you suggesting you have more expertise than a member of the medical profession? I think you need to have a break.” The phone on the desk rang.  “Go on, go and get a coffee.” He picked the receiver up.

“DI Price speaking. What? Oh! Just one moment please.”

“Hold on a sec!” he called. The constable was opening the door to leave, but turned back. Detective Inspector Price was looking grey. He spoke into the phone again and scribbled some notes. “I’ll have a team there in thirty minutes!”

The constable walked back to the desk with a feeling of dread. Had Ilona been found? He could see it was not good news.

DI Price tugged anxiously at the knot of his orange polyester tie. “Apparently we’ve another missing person in Layhill. A child. Find Sergeant Perks, and wait for me in the lobby. You can drive.”

.

 

In the patrol car on the way to Layhill, DI Price briefed his colleagues. “Jack Hargreaves,” he said. “Ten years old. Single-parent family. No previous involvement with us, or social services, and he’s never been on the ‘at risk’ register. Reported missing by his mother at about five-thirty when he didn’t return home from school. Turns out he had bunked off this afternoon, so he hasn’t been seen since midday.”

The car swerved. “That’s the same time Ilona disappeared!”

“Keep your eyes on the road please, officer. _Possibly_ disappeared. But, yes. It may be coincidence, of course.”

“Why wasn’t it reported earlier? The school must have known he was absent!”

“A bit of a catalogue of errors apparently, compounded by the fact that the boy’s got form, so no one was really worried. His teacher recorded his absence and asked the school secretary to call his mother. She left a voicemail message. The message wasn’t picked up until his mother started to get worried when he didn’t come home.”

“How about the father?” asked Dawn.

DI Price shook his head. “He’s not in the picture, sergeant. Carted off before the lad was born. The mother’s no idea where he is, but is adamant he doesn’t even know of the boy’s existence. DS Parry and DS Williams will set up a temporary incident room at the boy’s school. First, I need to speak to the person who saw him last. His best friend, Oliver Jones.”

They dropped Dawn at the school then drove on for a mile or so until they pulled up outside a house on a cul de sac at the outskirts of the village.

.

Oliver’s unhappy face was dirty and streaked with tears, and his hair stuck out from his head like straw. His mother sat beside him, stroking the back of his hand, while his father hovered behind them, looking helpless.

“He didn’t want to do drama,” Ollie sniffed. “He said it was for girls an’ he was goin’ to skive off. He asked me to go with him. But I wanted to do Drama. I like it! I should’ve gone with Jack though shou’n’t I?”

His mother looked ill. “No Ollie, love, you shouldn’t. Jack’s a naughty boy.”

“Do you know where he might have gone, Oliver?” asked DI Price, gently. “Did he have a special place?”

Ollie nodded. “‘E likes goin’ in the churchyard. Down by that grave with the snakes on it. No one ever goes there, hardly.”

.

When they returned to the school, it was fully dark and it was raining again. In a village like Layhill, rumours travel like floodwater, and the report of a missing child galvanised public attention like nothing else. A crowd had already gathered in the playground.

Dawn met them at the door. “We can conduct interviews in classrooms two and three.” She pointed across the hall.

“Right,” said DI Price. “DS Williams has gone to look in the churchyard and DS Parry is taking names and addresses of everyone here.” He spoke to the constable.  “Send the boy’s teacher‒” he glanced at his notes, “‒Miss Sharples ‒ to me in classroom three, then go and make yourself useful.”

The PC found Miss Sharples in the staff room, sitting in tense silence with another teacher and a classroom assistant. Magnified behind her large spectacles her eyes were pink and her mascara smudged. She followed him to DI Price’s temporary office. “I do so hope no harm has come to the lad,” she said. “He is a good-natured boy, but ‒ challenging.” 

.

Child-sized tables and chairs had been arranged around the outside of the school hall but Sergeant Perks was standing, using the windowsill to write, in preference to using the small tables. At one end of the room, a young woman the constable assumed was the missing boy’s mother was with an older woman he guessed to be her own mother. They sat together, still and drawn, holding flimsy plastic cups of tea while a young WPC ineffectually flitted about them.

“Should they really be here?” said the constable nodding towards them.

Dawn shrugged. “Probably not, but they insisted on coming here. Perhaps I’ll suggest they go home.”

There was a disturbance from the direction of the main door. He hurried over, and in the confusion he heard someone say, “Something’s been found in the churchyard. A child’s rucksack and coat, and a games console. The mother will need to identify them.”

The WPC led Jack’s mother and grandmother into the empty classroom two, followed by a uniformed officer carrying a plastic bag. A few seconds later, a heartrending howl came from the room and a shiver of fearful silence settled over the room.

DS Williams had accompanied a small, wizened man into the hall and handed him over to Dawn who led him to the constable. “This is the churchwarden, Mr Nicholls,” she explained. “He thinks he might have heard something in the churchyard at about the time Jack was last seen. Will you take his statement, please?

The constable sat down on a child-size chair at a low desk and Mr Nicholls lowered himself uncomfortably into another. His statement was short and to the point, and when he had finished writing, the PC read it back.

“Shortly after midday on Thursday, 12th March 2009, I was sweeping the vestry of Layhill Church and heard a loud cracking sound outside the building. I suspected that a damaged branch had fallen from an old hornbeam tree I had been meaning to attend to. I hurried over, afraid in case anything had been damaged, or someone hurt, but when I got there, the tree was in the same condition as previously. I spent a few minutes looking around the area for the source of the noise, but could not see anything that might have caused it and found nothing untoward. Knowing of no reason to investigate further, I returned to my work and thought no more of it until the vicar rang me at six forty-five to tell me that a child’s bag and game had been found in that same area of the churchyard. At which point I immediately contacted the police.”

“Statement taken at‒” he glanced up at the large round clock on the wall, “‒7pm. If you’re happy with this, Mr Nicholls, please can check your details are correct and sign here.” He scrawled his own signature, then marked a cross at the bottom of the page and passed it across the table.

When the statement had been signed, the constable helped the churchwarden ease himself stiffly up from the little chair and wished him goodnight.

Something was nagging at the back of his mind. The air of febrile anxiety in the hall impaired his ability to concentrate, so he took himself into the deserted school kitchen for a few minutes.

An ultraviolet fly zapper flickered, picking out the white tea cloths and aprons with an eerie glow, and digital electronic displays reflected in green and red on the polished stainless steel surfaces. The low light and calm hum of the freezers helped him think.

Why did the description of a loud crack make him feel so uneasy? The same thing had happened at Laybrook Court. He allowed his mind to drift until it made the connection.

The young police officer did not know what was going on here. He did not have much of an opinion about coincidence at all, on the whole. Except when it came to wizards. When it came to wizards, police constable Dudley Dursley did not believe in it at all.

 .

.

 

 


	9. Compelled by Signs

** Chapter Nine: Compelled by Signs **

****

Dudley wiped condensation off the window and looked out into the wet darkness as a shiny silver van pulled up under the street light outside. He groaned, recognising a television station logo on the side. “I suppose they’ll be on us like vultures now,” he muttered to himself and went back out into the school hall.

DI Price came over to him. “I’ve been looking for you. Where have you been?”

“Sorry, Guv,” said Dudley. “I just needed to think for a minute, you know.”

“Of course I do, son, but now isn’t the time for thinking. You can do that on your day off.”

Dudley blinked and DI Price gave him a sardonic wink. “Find Dawn, and the two of you take Jack’s mother and grandmother home. If we don’t have any developments overnight ‒ and to be frank, I don’t expect to ‒ we’ll call a press conference at the station at nine a.m. tomorrow. We’ll be calling off the search here in‒” he looked at his watch, “‒an hour or so. It’s too dark and wet to be worthwhile now. Hopefully, the weather conditions will improve overnight.”

Outside in the school yard, groups of people were standing around in the rain, stamping their feet in excitement and anxiety. But they fell silent and looked away as Dawn and Dudley escorted Jack’s mother and grandmother past. Behind them, they heard DI Price calling everyone into the school building.

 

 

* * *

 

In Layhill cottage, Julia sat on the sofa with her laptop on her knee, and Sirius lay on the floor with half an eye on the television screen, the volume turned down low. She put her feet on his chest and he tickled her toes. She wriggled with pleasure and opened up her laptop.

There were several emails in her inbox. She glanced down the list. Nothing that couldn’t wait, except for one. There was an email from Megan. Julia looked at the name in her inbox with astonishment and sat up straight.

“Oof! Warn me next time!”

 “Sorry!  I’ve got an email from Megan!”

“Oh, that’s nice. How is she?”

“You don’t understand! There aren’t any computers at Hogwarts. The students aren’t allowed to have them.” Sirius sat straight sat up with a rapid, sinuous movement.

“How do you do that?” grumbled Julia. “You’re forty-nine. It’s not right.”

“Breeding,” said Sirius and bit her ear.

“Huh,” she said. “I might enter you for Crufts next year then.”

“I’d have an unfair advantage.” Sirius peered at the laptop screen. “What’s she say?”

Anxiously, Julia opened the message.

_‘mum im on proffesser longbottoms computer plz dnt tell  proffesser mcgonagull she dus’nt no.’_

_A long discussion about the misuse of the English language was called for,_ she  thought. Megan’s spelling had not improved one iota over the last six months. Julia often suspected these things were rather neglected at that school.

She read on. _‘ive got a feeling mum’._ Julia’s heart sank. _‘u must tell jacks mum not 2 wurry he is ok he is in a place with a tower and the bildings ar falling down love from Megan xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx’._

“Jack’s mum?” she said, astonished. “What the hell? I hardly know Jack’s mum. Why should I tell her not to worry? And a place with a tower? This is nonsense!”

Sirirus looked tense. “It must be something,” he said. “You know better than to dismiss Megan’s Feelings.”

There was a knock at the door and Albie started barking in the utility room. Surprised, Julia looked up at the clock on the wall. “It’s half-past seven! Who can be calling at this time?”

 

 

* * *

 

Dudley waited in the front porch of Layhill Cottage. From inside he heard the deep barking of a large dog and gulped nervously. Julia opened the door.

“Constable Dursley! Whatever are you doing here?”

“Can I come in for a minute?”

“Of course,” she stood aside and he stepped over the threshold.

“The dog -?”

“Go through into the sitting room.” She gestured towards a door. “I’ll shut him in the kitchen.”

The low-beamed room was cosy and warm with a bright fire crackling in a wood stove. An expensive-looking oriental rug glowed in jewel colours on the quarry-tiled floor.

In a few moments Julia returned, followed by a tall, grey-haired man who leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded, looking faintly intimidating.

“Will you sit down?” asked Julia. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you. This isn’t a social call.”

“I didn’t think it was. What can I do for you?”

“Do you know a boy called Jack Hargreaves?”

She looked surprised. “Of course I do. Everyone in the village does. He’s the spawn of the devil. Why, what’s he done?”

“What he’s done is disappeared.”

Julia’s hand went to her mouth, her eyes widening. “Oh lord, I shouldn’t have said that! What do you mean, disappeared?”

“What I mean is, he’s disappeared,” said Dudley allowing a trace of sarcasm to creep into his voice. “It seems rather too much of a coincidence that Ilona has also vanished on the same day we have . . . an unusual death. In a tiny village like this?”

Julia blanched and sat down heavily on the couch. The grey-haired man came to stand behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. She leaned into it.

“Are you accusing Julia of something?” said the man. He was very well-spoken, but his voice had a rough, slightly abrasive edge.

“No,” said Dudley. “Not yet. But‒” he looked at Julia. “I think you know more than you’re letting on.”

 She looked annoyed and her mouth narrowed into a stubborn line. “I’m not the only one, am I?” She drew a deep breath. “All right, cards on the table. That thing of Ellen’s that you took from Sandra, for ‘evidence’, was a magic wand. You know it, and I know it. Siri – Simon?”

The other man pulled something out of a long pocket on the leg of his combat pants and laid it on the back of the couch.

Dudley’s legs felt weak and he sat down heavily on the nearest chair. “Bloody hell You’re one of Them an’ all!” He put his head in his hands. “I can’t put this in my blinkin’ report. Is that offer of tea still open?”

.

By the time he had a mug of tea in his hand, he had pulled himself together. “So what the hell is going on here?”

“Just what I was going to ask you.” Julia looked up at the clock. “I think we should go and talk to Isaac. S – Simon will you take Albie out? Come with me, Officer. Shall we go in your car?”

She climbed into the passenger seat of the patrol car and fastened her seatbelt. “The other thing is,” she said, as Dudley seated himself in the driver’s side and started the engine. “I’ve had an email from my daughter. She’s at, erm, Hogwarts?”

“I know what bloody Hogwarts is,” he said. “Why doesn’t this surprise me?”

“Well the thing is, she wanted me to tell Jack’s mum not to worry. She’s a friend of Jack’s you see,” she added, as if that snippet of information was somehow explanatory.

“Your daughter? How old is she?”

“Twelve. Just. She’s only in the first year.”

“Twelve!” The car engine stalled as he twisted round to look at Julia. “What’s she got to do with this lot then?”

“Nothing! Of course not! But she’s really good at finding things that are lost. Will you take me to see Jack’s mum? It might make her feel better.”

“And it might make her think you’re mental. And me too, for taking you.”

“Will you? Please?”

He sighed in defeat and started the engine again. “If you insist. But I want to speak to this Mr . . .  Prewett, first.” He pulled out of Julia’s drive.

“Turn left,” said Julia. “Isaac’s cottage is on the other side of the hill.”

.

It was barely half a mile by road and the journey only took a couple of minutes. Isaac Prewett’s cottage was very similar to the one they had just left and Julia was obviously a regular visitor. She led the way round to the back door and gave a quick knock, then went straight in without waiting. “Isaac!” she called, “it’s only me!”

An answering voice called from inside. “Come on in, Julia!”

She led Dudley along a short passage made narrow by shelves crammed with books and papers, which lined the walls from floor to ceiling.

“What brings you here at this time of the evening?” The elderly man who was sitting in an armchair by an open fire reading a book, looked up. “Ah! You’ve brought company!”

“This is Constable Dursley. He wants to ask you some questions. Did you know Jack Hargreaves has disappeared?”

Isaac looked horrified. “I had no idea! When did that happen? I heard a rumour that one of the care assistants from Laybrook Court had gone missing.”

“Ilona, yes,” said Julia.

“And now a child is missing, too?”

“It seems that Jack had bunked off school before lunch,” said Dudley. “His mother didn’t realise he was missing until he failed to return home for his tea a couple of hours ago.”

“If you’re thinking I know anything about this,” said Isaac, “I assure you, I don’t.”

Dudley looked hard at the old man. “Why did Ellen name you as her next of kin?”

Isaac marked his place with a scrap of paper and closed the book, folding his hands on top of it. “It was purely a business arrangement,” he said. “I was her solicitor before I retired, and I agreed to maintain a limited management of her affairs.” He sighed. “Poor old Ellen. I suppose I’ll have to arrange the funeral now. Before you ask, she had no relatives. She was a widow and her only child died some years ago. I believe there is a nephew living somewhere, but she has left the residue of her estate to the church organ fund. Not that there is a great deal. She had been in Laybrook Court for nearly eleven years. Since soon after her son died.”

“It’s rather a coincidence that her death seems to have occurred at the same time as these disappearances, don’t you think?” asked Dudley.

Isaac was impassive.

“Did you know that Ellen’s body was . . .  odd, when I first saw it?” he continued. “It was hard. Harder than rigor mortis, even though that would not have been possible in the time.”

Isaac closed his eyes as if in pain. _“Petrificus totalus!_ ” he whispered under his breath.

“But Julia, here, did something –” Dudley cast a sidelong glance at her. She was worrying the corner of a thumbnail with her teeth. “– and by the time the doctor arrived, the body looked perfectly normal. That’s why he signed it off as natural causes. Ellen had very few belongings, apparently. Nothing worth stealing, it seems. Apart from her necklace.”

Isaac went grey and sank back, clutching his chest. “Julia, my pills! On the mantelpiece, there,” he pointed.

Julia snatched a bottle from amid the clutter where he indicated, and twisted the top off, shaking a tablet into her palm and giving it to him. He put it in his mouth and after a few minutes, some colour returned to his face.

“Angina?” asked Dudley.

Isaac nodded.  “Yes, but I’m all right now. Her necklace is gone, you say?”

“What is so significant about that Isaac?” said Julia. “I remember it, and it didn’t look valuable.”

“I really don’t know,” said Isaac, shaking his head. “I know her son gave it to her, and I know she placed great value on it. She told me once he had given it to her for safekeeping, so it must have had some importance. But after he died, I think it was just sentimental. I have no idea why anyone would want to take it. Honestly, Julia, I don’t!”

.

Eventually, Dudley was as satisfied as he could be that no more information was going to be forthcoming from Isaac. “CID might want to talk to you yet,” he bluffed. “Don’t go away.”

“I never go anywhere,” Isaac assured him.

.

“Julia,” said Dudley as they left Isaac’s cottage, “do you still want to see Jack’s mother?”

“Please,” she said, “it’s getting late. We’d better go now.”

“This bloody village seems to be full of your lot,” Dudley mused as they drove into the village.

“Not my lot,” Julia corrected him. “I’m not a witch. I admit it would be nice to be able to summon the TV remote sometimes. Or peel the potatoes without getting up. But really, Constable Dursley, it’s mostly not all that exciting unless you want to fly. And that’s blooming cold.”

Dudley was curious. “Don’t you find it ‒ threatening? Knowing they can do whatever they want to you? Horrible things!”

Julia laughed merrily. “Rubbish!” she said. “They can only do things to you if you let them. Unless they catch you by surprise, but even then it doesn’t work very well. This place is a bit of a hotbed of magic, though, it’s true. I think it goes back a long way. Old families, you know.”

Dudley did not, but he had been given much food for thought, and he was disinclined to expand his knowledge any further at that moment.

.

.

Every window at Jack’s house was lit. It was something Dudley had noticed before – the impulse to banish shadows at times when the natural order of things was threatened. He rang the bell, and after a few seconds Dawn came to the door.

“Dudley! Is there some news?” she looked curiously at Julia.

“No, I haven’t heard anything new. Sarge, Julia here wants to speak to Jack’s mother. I don’t think it will take long.”

“Let me ask,” said Dawn. “Come out of the rain.” She left them standing in the small hallway for a minute, then returned. “Make it quick,” she said, “Karen’s obviously very distressed.”

They went through into the kitchen where Karen was sitting at a small table, a heap of damp tissues in front of her. Her eyes were red and puffy, her lips swollen and her face ashen but blotched with puce. Her hair hung in limp, pale strands about her face.

At the sink, her mother was washing a stack of crockery she had emptied out of a cupboard. She looked up when they came in. “I do this,” she said apologetically. “Cleaning. When I’m stressed, you know.” She resumed her scrubbing.

Dudley and Dawn stood by the door, watching, as Julia sat down at the table and took the weeping woman’s hands in hers.

“Karen, I know we don’t know each other very well, but I’m Megan’s mum. You know, Jack’s friend?”

“I know who you are,” mumbled Karen.

“Well,” said Julia, “I know this sounds completely mad, but Megan, she - oh she knows things. I don’t expect you to believe me.”

“You mean she’s, like, a medium? Like in that film, ‘Sixth Sense’?”

“No, Karen,” said Julia firmly. “Not like that at all. She doesn’t see dead people. She’s just very good at finding things. And I had a message from her earlier. It didn’t say very much, just that Jack is all right, and you should try not to worry.”

Karen looked at Julia in desperation and whispered, “Do you really think Jack is okay?”

“I do,” said Julia. “Megan’s Feelings are never wrong.”

Karen’s mother came over, drying her hands. “I’m sure you mean well,” she said. “I hope so anyway, but you’re not helping. Whatever mumbo-jumbo you’re telling Karen, don’t. It’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry,” said Julia, “I don’t blame you for not believing me. Megan asked me to come, and I have done. And her Feelings are never wrong,” she repeated.

“Come on, Julia,” said Dudley, nudging her. “You’ve said your piece. Time to go.”

.

Dudley dropped a pale and subdued Julia back at her cottage before going home himself. Wearily, he pulled off his jacket and trousers and dropped, still half-dressed, into bed. He fell into an exhausted and uneasy slumber for a few hours, but when he woke at three in the morning, he was unable to get back to sleep. His mind was racing. None of this business added up, and he needed to speak to someone who might make sense of it. 

He got up, went downstairs and put the kettle on. As it hissed into life, he rummaged through the pile of junk mail, credit card bills and wedding invitations that were stuffed into a kitchen drawer. Near the bottom, he found what he wanted. Turning an old Christmas card over, he read what was written on the back. Then he made some tea, had a quick shower, put on a clean uniform and went out into the dark, damp morning.

.

 

 


	10. As Morning Shows the Day

** Chapter Ten: As Morning Shows the Day **

 

Somewhere in the Midlands, observed in silence by five other figures, a tall man with glasses that kept slipping down his nose consulted a fragile document for a moment, then made some final adjustments to the complex mechanism in front of him.

With exquisite care, he inserted a piece of wire into a small aperture at the side of the machine and put the other end into a narrow-necked vial containing a yellow liquid. Then he picked up a small, corroded, circular object and delicately inserted it into a recess of exactly the same size. He placed the tip of long, narrow tool into a little crevice and turned it until there was an audible click. A faint whine began to emit from the machine, and a halo of pale green light started to collect around it.

He gave a sigh of gratification, pulled his rickety seat back from the table and rubbed his hands together with satisfaction. “Now,” he said looking around at his companions, “we wait. In five or six hours I believe we will begin to feel the effect as the machine starts to absorb the _Leode-wyrcan_ energy. We must be prepared.”

A palpable sense of tension descended. A man lying on a thin mat gave a gasping and humourless cough of laughter. “We all have something to look forward to, then.”  Cross-legged on the floor, a thin, dark man, his mouth moving constantly in a chewing motion, whispered inaudibly to himself, and scratched at his arm with dirty, broken fingernails.

Clearing his throat, a young man with fair hair tied back into a ponytail, drew his shoulders back and lifted his chin in determination. “Then I shall take this final opportunity to ensure our demands and objectives are clear to all. I shall return as soon as I have done so.” A big man with small, close-set eyes looked thoughtful for a moment, then poked his wand behind the collar at the back of his robe in order to scratch his back. He gave a small grunt of pleasure.

The smallest figure hopped on to a box, its large ears standing firm with approval. “You has done well. Ministry of Magic has to pay attention now! They is not going to ignore us any more!  You two,” it pointed with a long finger at the biggest man and the tall man, go and see if the prisoners is all right.” The finger wavered slightly. “They is our next problem.”

“Why don’t we just _Obliviate_ them and let them go?” The tall man sounded irritable and pushed his glasses up his nose again. “I really don’t see what use they are.”

The man who was lying down dragged himself into a sitting position and gasped, “Who is going to do that then? You?”

The tall man looked affronted. “It is a crude technique, without subtlety, and as such, one I never felt the need to learn.”

The breathless man grunted derisively. “So who else would care to do it? Or shall we let Tony try again?”

All eyes turned to the thin dark man who blinked in surprise when he realised everyone was looking at him.

The other man coughed and continued. “Or perhaps our resident poet can oblige?”

The fair-haired man drew himself up to his full height. “Of all the morally repugnant practices of the wizarding world, the _Obliviation_ of innocent Muggles is one of the worst. It is entirely against my principles.”

“Then,” the breathless man lay down again. “I suggest we look after them for now.”

…

.

As a half-hearted shaft of morning sun peeked through the skylight heralding an improvement in the weather, the door opened and another box of food was wordlessly shoved through. Jack investigated and found exactly the same contents as the previous day’s offering, with every appearance of having been acquired at the same time. A cold burger made an unappealing breakfast, and Ilona turned her nose up, fastidiously removing the stiff grey slab of meat with her finger and thumb and eating only the bun, her face screwed up in disgust. Jack had a more robust constitution, but even so, the experience was lacking in pleasure.

A little while later, they were escorted outside again; this time by the big man Jack thought of as ‘Pig-face’ and the worried-looking tall man with glasses. It seemed that there was no immediate plan to do anything sinister with the two prisoners. Jack had the impression that their captors were at something of a loss, and his anxiety of the previous day gave way to a more general curiosity. Both of the men wore strange hats and long coats with wide collars. The coats reached nearly to the ground and had big, loose pockets at the sides. Jack’s attention was caught by something poking out from the big man’s pocket and an interesting idea occurred to him.

.

“Them are wizards,” he told Ilona a little later, through a mouthful of stale bread. “Well, that little ‘un’s an alien, But them others are wizards. The Pig-face one's gotta wand!

Ilona nodded. “I believe anything now,” she said. “And I think they not know what to do with us. I wish they just let us go home.” Her fear seemed to have evaporated, and she was beginning to show an encouraging spirit.

Jack lay on his belly on the pallet and scratched a picture of _Arcturus Dark’s_ ship, the _Terapene,_ into the rough timber with an old nail while he thought. Absent-mindedly, he pulled a sharp strip of wood away from where it had split at the edge of a plank. It was about the size of a wand. A bit sharp at one end and too fat at the other, but he reckoned he could tidy it up. He took it over to the wall and tried rubbing it against the rough bricks. The wood was a soft, splintery sort, and dusty grains of sawdust started to drop to the ground. As he scrubbed the sharp edges away from the scrap of wood, a plan began to take shape in Jack’s mind. He lacked Arcturus Dark’s technological advantages, but he was a practical boy and accepted the limitations of his situation with a degree of equanimity.

“If I had a proper wand, I could magic us out,” he informed Ilona with unfounded confidence. “So I’m gonna nick Pig-face’s.”

Ilona raised her eyebrows. “How you do that, Jack? He much bigger than you.”

“We gotta distract him. You can pretend to be poorly. You can fall down an’ be unconscious.”

Ilona looked repulsed. “You are joking, Jack! I not falling down on purpose so that horrible lump put his hands all over me.  I can do better things than that.”

This was what Jack liked to hear. “We gotta get ‘im on ‘is own,” he said, and outlined his plan.

 

* * *

 

 

Ginny had risen at an unnatural hour of the morning to go training in Swansea. James and Albus had breakfasted without complaint on something brown and sweet, and Harry had just settled Lily back into her cot when there was a knock at the front door.

Another unexpected visitor! Might it be Julia again? Hurrying downstairs before another knock woke Lily, he trod on a toy dragon, which broke underfoot. James started to cry. “Oh James,” Harry said, “I’ll fix it in a few minutes, just let me get the door.” Unmollified, James continued to wail and Albus decided to join in. Harry fully expected Lily to do the same at any moment.

The visitor standing on the step looking awkward and self-conscious, was probably the last person he had expected to see. Harry had to raise his voice above the insistent protests of his disgruntled children. “Dudley! Merlin’s beard! Well, this is a surprise!  Er, will you come in?”

Dudley seemed reluctant.

“No-one is going to give you a tail or a giant tongue Dudley, you have my word. And these two are noisy but generally harmless.” Harry was surprised to see a reluctant smile hover for a moment on Dudley’s lips. “You’re in uniform. Is this an official visit?”

“Yeah, well as it happens,” said Dudley, “I do need to speak to you about something.”

“Well, whatever it is, the doorstep isn’t the place.” Harry stood aside and waved his cousin into the sitting room, moving some toys and picking a cushion up from the floor. Dudley sat down on the edge of a chair with his hands on his knees, tapping his fingers nervously. James and Albus ceased their complaining in order to observe the visitor better.

James trotted over and tugged at Harry’s robes. Harry leaned down to him.

“Anyway, Daddy,” whispered James. “That man is a p’liceman.”

“So he is, James,” said Harry. How did you know that?       

James nodded wisely. “Grandad showed me one. At the Queen’s house.

“Oh yes,” Harry agreed. “Your grandad likes policemen. And the Queen.”

“So anyway, Daddy, why is that p’liceman here?”

“I expect he has come to check that you are being good.”

Wide-eyed with uncertainty, James stared at Dudley.

Dudley gave James a friendly wink, and the little boy looked reassured.

“I thought you were based in the Midlands?” said Harry. “How come you’re here at this time?” He looked at the clock. “It’s only seven-thirty.”

 “I set out early. I didn’t want to wait. And my DI doesn’t know I’m here.”

“You’ve lost weight,” said Harry, “you’re looking very well.”

“Yes, well, I don’t want to end up like Dad, do I?”

“No.” Harry recalled the last time he had seen Dudley and his aunt Petunia two years earlier at Vernon’s funeral. Vernon had, according to Mrs Figg’s undiplomatically loud whisper, had such a massive stroke, he had been dead before he hit the ground.

“So, Dudley, why don’t you tell me what brings you here.”

Dudley looked directly at Harry. “There’s a – situation. I don’t know what’s going on, but it involves Your Lot. And when you start kidnapping us, it’s getting out of hand.”

Harry’s heart speeded up. “Kidnapping? Are you saying a wizard has kidnapped a Muggle?”

“Two bloody . . . Muggles.  And one is only a boy! Ten years old, Harry!” Dudley reached into his pocket and handed two rather poorly copied photographs to Harry. One showed a pretty, cheerful looking young blonde woman and the other a boy with messy red hair and a plentiful dusting of freckles.

“Shit!” Harry sat down heavily. “Don’t repeat that please, James. Are you sure, Dudley? Tell me what happened.”

Dudley drew a deep breath. “An elderly woman named Ellen Smith died unexpectedly in an old folks’ home yesterday.” He held his hand up. “I know what you’re going to say. How unexpected can it be? But the body was  ‒ stiff. Hard. Not normal rigor mortis. And she was holding this.” He reached inside his stab vest and pulled out Ellen’s wand.

“Bloody hell.” Harry held his hand out and Dudley passed the wand over. Harry weighed it in his grasp for a moment. He could hear James behind him quietly whispering “Bloody hell and shit,” to Albus, but ignored it.

Dudley carried on. “Shortly afterwards we discovered that one of the care assistants was missing. Ilona, there.” He indicated one of the photographs. “We found her phone in Ellen’s room. No one saw anything but the manager reported hearing a loud noise. Like a firework? Then a few hours later, the boy was reported missing by his mother when he didn’t return home after school. It turned out he had been bunking off. We found his school bag and games console in the churchyard. Again, no one saw anything but the churchwarden reported hearing a sharp crack at about the same time as Ilona went missing. I know what that bloody noise means, Harry. It means it’s something to do with Your Lot!”

Harry was at a loss. “This – Ellen Smith. Who was she? What about her family?”

“She had none. That’s another odd thing. Her next of kin was listed as an old chap called Isaac Prewett who lives in the village. No relation, and never seems to have visited. He says he acted for her in a purely administrative capacity, looking after her affairs. He’s some sort of retired solicitor, I think. He said she had no close relatives, and she had left everything to the Church in her will.”

Harry rubbed the wand thoughtfully with his thumb. “I’m going to hang on to this for now, Dudley. I want the name and address of the man Ellen named as her next of kin.”

Dudley chewed his lip for a moment. “My DI has called a press conference for nine this morning,” he said, “and I think he is going to connect the death of Ellen Smith with the disappearances. It might get ‒ complicated.”

Harry groaned. “I’ll have one of my liaison officers at your station in a couple of hours. I want to know what’s going on, too. If there are wizards behind this, I will get to the bottom of it, I promise.”

Dudley stood up. “Thanks, Harry,” he said. He took a card and pen from his pocket, wrote something on the blank side, and handed it over. “This is where I’m based; Upper Layford police station. The address you want is on the back. I, er ‒  know we haven’t always been the best of friends, Harry, but I think you’re okay, really. And believe it or not, I’m okay, too.”

“I know you are, Dud,” said Harry, feeling oddly moved. “Keep me posted if there are any developments.”

Dudley crouched down beside James and Albus. “I’m glad to say you two seem to be very good boys. I shall write that in my report. I might have to come back and check up again, though, so don’t let your guard down!”

.

When Ginny got home an hour later, she deposited her muddy Quidditch kit in a heap on the floor of the back porch and flopped on to the sofa.

“I’m so out of condition!” she complained. Harry sat down beside her and pushed her head forward, kneading at the knots in the muscles of her neck and shoulders.

“Ooh!” she groaned. “That feels so good, Harry. Don’t stop.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to,” said Harry with regret. “I’ve got to go out.”  He told her about his visitor.  “I’ve got to go down to the Ministry,” he said. “I need to send someone up there to keep things under control. Sorry, love.” He kissed the back of her neck and sniffed. “You need a shower.”

“You silver-tongued charmer, you,” grumbled Ginny.

“You,” he kissed her neck again, “always smell delicious. And now I really do have to go.”

.

.

At the Ministry, half an hour later, Harry went looking for Sally-Anne. He found her in the Atrium polishing her wand and looking rather bored.

“Morning, Sally-Anne,” he said, have you been assigned to anything yet?”

She shook her head. “I went to see my granddad yesterday, and I’ve been following up some paperwork for Minister Shacklebolt, but I could do with a proper job. Have you got something for me?”

“Looks like it,” said Harry. “How is your granddad, by the way?”

“Still the same,” she said. “The doctors don’t have any idea what is wrong. He’s had a Muggle brain scan and everything looks perfectly normal, apparently. But he doesn’t know us, he doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t even remember his own name. It’s horrible, Harry!”

“I can imagine,” he said, with sympathy. “He’s up in Shropshire, isn’t he?”

She nodded. “He’s in hospital in Shrewsbury at the moment.”

“This might suit you then,” said Harry. “There’s been an incident ‒ a kidnapping, apparently, of two Muggles. A woman and a child. There is reason to believe that wizards are involved.”

Sally-Anne looked disbelieving. “Surely not! Why?”

Harry shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, but I’d like someone up there to stop any wild rumours, you know. Keep the Muggle press under control. At least until we know for sure if wizards are implicated.”

“That’s what I’m good at,” she said. “Where am I going?”

“Er,” Harry looked at the card Dudley had given him. “Upper Layford police station?”

Sally-Anne’s eyes widened. “You’re joking. That’s where my sister works!”

“Really? That’s a, ah . . . coincidence. You’ll liaise with a constable Dursley. He’s my cousin, and you won’t need to modify his memory. In fact,” he said, remembering Julia’s distress in the Ministry archives, “just keep it all to a minimum will you? Only use the _Obliviate_ charm if it’s absolutely necessary.”

Sally-Anne looked surprised. “You’re the boss,” she said. “I’ll get up there now.”

“Thanks, Sally,” he said. “Report back when you can.” –

 

* * *

 

 

It had gone ten by the time Dudley returned to Upper Layford police station from his unofficial visit to Cambridgeshire. Dawn called him over.

“You’ll never guess what,” she said. “My sister’s arrived! She’s based here while the investigation into Jack Hargreaves’ disappearance is going on.”

“Oh!” said Dudley, surprised. “I thought you said she worked for Military Intelligence?”

“Ah,” Dawn looked shifty. “Not exactly. More a sort of, er, Special Branch.”

“Sort of _Special Branch?_ Come on, Dawn!”

“Top secret, you know.” She put her finger to her lips. “It’s all above board. She’s just been talking to the press.”

“Oh yes. How did the press conference go?”

Dawn shrugged. “As well as you’d expect for a live broadcast. Karen made a tearful plea for Jack’s return. DI Price suggested Ilona’s disappearance might be connected and appealed for information. They showed some photos. That was it, really.”

“No mention of anything else?” Dudley asked tentatively.

Dawn looked surprised. “No. What else would there be?”

“Oh, nothing important,” said Dudley with relief.

.

“Dudley Dursley?” The tall woman in military uniform who stood in the doorway had an imposing air. “Can I speak with you for a moment?” She beckoned him into the interview room she had appropriated as her office, and closed the door behind him.

“You are Harry’s cousin?”

“I see,” Dudley understood. “You’re one of Them. Don’t try any of your funny business on me!”

.

Dudley felt considerable sympathy for his DI as he called the team together for a briefing. Detective-Inspector Price tugged at his tie and looked slightly bemused, as he addressed them. He indicated Sally-Anne who stood at his side, her face stern, and her bearing authoritative. “I expect you have all met Sergeant Perks’s sister, Commander Sally-Anne Perks, here. She will be taking charge of the investigation for the time being. All enquiries and press requests should be directed to her.”

There was a murmur of disquiet in the room.

“But Guv‒” someone said.

“It’s all perfectly above board,” muttered DI Price, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was saying. He mopped his brow with a purple handkerchief. “I, er, I’m feeling a little under the weather. I’m taking the rest of the day off. Address your concerns to Commander Perks.”

 

* * *

 

 

Later in the day, Jack and Ilona found themselves the recipients of yet another box of cold takeaway food. This time, even Jack was hard-pressed to force it down. He made a manful attempt, but it rested, unmoving, in his stomach for some time and left a nasty taste in his mouth when he burped.

It put Ilona into a dreadful mood. “We going to starve to bloody death, before those bloody alien-wizard-idiots let us go!” She snatched one of the wrapped packages and flung it into a corner where it lay accusingly, like a small, dead animal.

When the big wizard returned with the fair-haired one, to accompany them outside again, she made her feelings clear. “You trying to poison us now?” she snapped. “Why you not just kill us straight away!”

The fair-haired man looked horrified. “We’re not going to kill you. In Merlin’s name what an appalling idea! I thought you would like this, erm, McDougall’s food. I understood this was a popular sort of meal for, er, your sort of people.”

“Really, are you stupid?” She ripped the paper from a burger and thrust the congealed, rancid smelling thing under his nose. “You eat it!”

The man recoiled. “Ah, perhaps you do have some cause for complaint. I will seek advice. Outside, now.” The two wizards urged Jack and Ilona before them across the yard. Ilona went first as usual, shadowed by the biggest wizard.

“You not need to stand so close!” she insisted furiously as she dragged the sagging door as shut as it would go. “I hardly likely to climb through bloody roof am I? Bloody pervert!”

The fair-haired man with the ponytail was leaning against the remains of a rusty crane, preoccupied with writing something into a notebook, He paid Jack little attention, but every time the boy moved more than an inch, the man looked up suspiciously.

Jack’s foot was sore where the wand he had made was tucked inside his sock and was chafing between his ankle and his shoe. He gave a heavy sigh and thought he should try to make conversation. “What are y’ writin’?” he asked, opening his eyes wide in an enquiring way he found sometimes lulled grown-ups who did not know him very well into a false sense of security.

The fair-haired man looked up from his work in surprise. “I’m a poet,” he explained.

“Oh that’s very interestin’!” said Jack insincerely. He racked his brains. On rare occasions, Miss Sharples had managed to smuggle what he thought of as ‘sissy stuff’ past his natural defences. “I know a pome,” he said. “Shall I tell it you?”  

“Ah, of course!” said the man. “It is a marvellous thing for one so young to take such an interest.”

“Right-oh,” said Jack. “I can’t ‘zactly remember all of it.” He stuck his chest out and squeezed his eyes shut in concentration.

“ _If you can keep your head,’”_ he said, “’ _when all about are losing theirs an’ blamin’ it on you_ ,’” ‒that line had struck a sharp chord with him at the time. “An’ I can’t jus’ remember the next bit, but then it goes, ’ _If you can meet with triumph and disaster, and treat them two imposters jus’ the same_.’  Then there’s another bit I can’t remember, an’ then it goes, _‘If you can fill the unforgivin’ minute with sixty secon’s worth of distance run, yours is the earth an’ everythin’ that’s in it. An’ what is more you’ll be a man, my son.’”_ It was written by Mr Kipling. He makes cakes an’ all.

The man looked impressed. “Would you like to hear one of my own works?” There was a faint note of pleading in his voice that Jack instinctively recognised. He sensed victory within his grasp.

“Oh, yes, please,” he lied. “I’d like that very much indeed.”

Ilona emerged and Pig-face led her back to them.

“Go on, your turn.” Pig-face gave Jack a push towards the toilet. Jack gave him a dirty look and turned his attention back to the fair-haired man, widening his eyes again. “I really want to read your pomes. Please can I have a lend of your book?” He gestured to the notebook.

“Borrow,” corrected the man. “I suppose so. I shall not stand in the way of your thirst for enlightenment. Just for a minute.” He handed the book over with slight reluctance.

.

When Jack came out into the yard again, he pre-empted the fair-haired man who was already holding his hand out for the book’s return.

“I’ve got yer book safe,” said Jack reassuringly. “I’m looking after it. I’ll give it yer back in a minute.” He smiled at the man. “It’s very good indeed!”

Ilona stumbled and grabbed the fair-haired man by the arm. “I so hungry,” she said weakly, leaning on him.

Jack quietly dropped the book on the ground behind him. “We gotta get Ilona back indoors,” he advised the two wizards urgently. “She’ll be very poorly, else. You don’t want her to be poorly do you?”

The fair man pushed Jack in front of him and Ilona dragged heavily on the two wizards, stumbling and emitting weak, feminine moans of distress until they were back in the furnace room.

Jack opened his eyes wide and clapped his hand to his mouth in a gesture of dismay, “Oh ‘eck!” He gazed at the fair-haired man with a well-rehearsed expression of guilt-stricken sorrow. I must’ve dropped your book of pomes. It must’ve happened when Ilona was poorly ‘cause you haven’t given us proper food.”

“Damn it! My notebook!” The fair-haired man shot out of the room.

“You very big man,” said Ilona to Pig-face admiringly. “Very strong I think?” She reached up and gave the man’s arm a squeeze. He started and looked, frankly, terrified. Ilona opened her blue eyes wide. “Oh!” she said, in what Jack considered a very silly voice, “oh, you have got _very_ big muscles!” Then she did a blinking thing with her eyelashes that Jack also thought was silly, but it had a remarkable effect on Pig-face, whose expression became vacant.  His small eyes misted over and a daft smile rested on his lips.

Ilona kept patting pig-face’s arm and smiling up at him and Jack seized his chance. Pulling the fake wand out of his sock where it had been giving him a blister, he took up position behind the big man. Holding his breath, he slid the real wand out of the loose pocket on the man’s long robe and slipped his own substitute in. It was amazingly easy. He tiptoed back a few feet and poked the wand down the sleeve of his school sweater just as the fair-haired man came back in, looking annoyed and picking specks of mud off his notebook. “Time to go,” he said. “Come on, Gregory, whatever are you doing?” Pig-face blinked in confusion and snatched his arm away from Ilona.

.

Jack was not of a nervous disposition. So far, the penalties for those of his schemes which had not been successful ‒ which, to be fair, was quite a high proportion ‒ had not been sufficiently unpleasant to act as an effective deterrent, and he never allowed failure to deter him from trying again. On this occasion though, there would be no second chance. He had a sneaking feeling that the consequences of failure this time might be less predictable and more painful than hitherto. If Pig-face looked for his wand now, the game would be up.

Disaster could easily be seconds away, and Jack crossed his fingers, waiting for the wizards to lock the door behind them. His luck (often remarked on back at home, in less than complimentary terms) held. He heard the locking word and the latch clicked without incident. The fair-haired wizard must have secured the door.

“I got it!” said Jack, excited. “I got the wand!” He held his hand up, palm out, and Ilona high-fived him with a smile.

“We a good team, Jack,” she said. “But what you do with it now?”

“I’m goin’ to practise,” said Jack, waving the wand about experimentally. He stuck his tongue between his teeth and thought hard.

Ilona sat down on her plank, pulled her blanket securely around her shoulders, leaned back against the wall and observed him.

“You really think you can make it work, Jack?”

Jack did not reply. He was concentrating, and his fingers were tingling.

 

 

 


	11. Fraught With Fire

 

Diagon Alley looked exactly the same as it always had, and the familiarity was comforting, easing the tension Harry felt. The hinges of the door to Ollivander’s wand shop squealed as it opened, and he inhaled the smell of timber, sawdust, linseed oil, turpentine and the indefinable tang of magic that lay beneath it all. The man behind the counter looked up as he approached.

“Good morning,” said Harry. “Liston, isn’t it?”                                                               

“Indeed it is, Mr Potter. To what do we owe the honour of a visit from the Head Auror?”

Harry took Ellen’s wand from inside his robe and placed it on the counter. “This may be evidence in a criminal investigation. Apparently, it belonged to a woman called Ellen Smith, but I’d like to check. Can that be done?”

“Possibly,” said Liston, picking it up and squinting at it. “Yes, it’s one of ours. If my uncle Garrick were here, he would know straight away, but I can certainly check our records.” He held it up, eyed it along the length and weighed it in his hand. “Eight inches - rather short. Rigid. Inflexible.” He sniffed it. “Persian ironwood,” he said, “with a gryphon claw heart. An angry little wand.” He picked a magnifying glass up from the counter and peered through it at the thicker end. “All our wands get an identification number when they are sold,” he explained.  “It relates to the date of issue, not the date of manufacture. Some of our wands are here for generations – centuries even, before they choose someone.” He squinted. “Nineteen forty. . . two. Number seventeen. Let me check the ledger.”

He turned his back to Harry and contemplated a shelf loaded with large volumes, walking his fingers along the spines. “Here we are, forty to forty-four.” He pulled the book from the shelf, blew off a cloud of dust and opened it on the counter, starting to turn the pages. He ran his index finger down the margin of a spotted page and stopped. “Ellen Smith did you say?”

Harry nodded.

“Well, I suppose she might have changed her surname on marriage. But this wand was issued to an Eileen Prince.”

Harry stared in astonishment.

“You look surprised.”

Harry exhaled heavily. “I suppose you could say that. Thanks for your time, Liston.”

As he descended the worn steps into the street, he became aware of something flapping in the air. Several somethings in fact; sheets of paper. He reached out and snatched one as it fluttered past. He glanced at it, recognising with a shock the _Confederacy Liberatum_ emblem.

It was almost lunch-time, and his stomach was complaining. He ducked under a low lintel into the dim interior of the Leaky Cauldron and ordered a pint of beer and a pork pie at the bar. Then he found an empty table in a secluded corner and studied the paper.

At the top was printed the familiar tree and ‘ _CL’_ monogram, and below that, it said:  
‘ _Confederacy Liberatum regrets the inability of the established hierarchy to accept its shortcomings and move forward into a brighter, fairer future for the many. The inertia of the Ministry of Magic drives us to further action:_

_Thus, as the golden Orb falls in the sky._  
_Thy power and hubris then will fade and die._  
_Thou foolish wizards all, the hour is nigh!  
_ _We, ‘Militares pro Justicia’ cry!’_

 The implied threat was clear, but nothing else was. Harry did not have a clue what it meant. He folded the paper and tucked it into an inside pocket while he finished his beer and pie and considered what his next course of action should be.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Pig-face’s wand fitted in Jack’s hand even better than his stick. It made the tips of his fingers pleasantly warm and the back of his neck tingled. Jack had a good feeling about this; he was sure he could make it work. His problem was the words. _Words_ , he thought. They used special words for spells. Megan had told him as much, and he had heard the gang saying strange-sounding things sometimes. He had noticed they always used the same words to lock or unlock the door. He pointed the wand at the door “ _Cauliflower,”_ he said, but nothing happened. He realised that was probably the locking word. He tried to remember the unlocking word. “ _Balamory,”_ he said, but the door remained firmly locked.

Jack did not really know any foreign words, but he racked his brain. “Bonjour,” he said experimentally, waving the wand without effect. “Merci beaucoup.”

A hot, pink light appeared at the end of the wand. It was, it was true, rather brighter and hotter than he usually managed with his stick but it was otherwise unimpressive, and Jack was not convinced that the words had much to do with it. He flapped the wand around. A few sparks flew from the end and danced about in the air like fireflies for a few seconds before going out. This was looking promising.

“Did you see that, Ilona?” he asked, tugging at her blanket.

“Is looking good, Jack,” she said, “but I don’t think that help us escape.”

Jack pondered. Maybe the words didn’t _have_ to be foreign ones. “ _Zorro_!” he yelled, slashing the wand into the figure of a _Z_ in the air which left a mark imprinted on his vision like sparklers did at Bonfire Night. To his alarm, a ball of fizzing sparks leapt from the end of the wand and began to spin around the room buzzing like an electric toothbrush. It bounced off the edge of the furnace hatch, and he ducked as it headed straight for him, shot over his head, ricocheted off the wall behind him and shot towards Ilona.

“Look out, Ilona!” he shouted.

The warning was unnecessary, as she had not taken her eyes off the fireball and sidestepped neatly. The ball bounced off the floor, shot up to the ceiling and fizzed among the rafters for a moment before exploding in a magenta shower and expiring.

Jack was breathless with joy as his eyes adjusted again to the darkness. He sighed happily. “I made it work di’n’t I, Ilona! Shall I do it again?”

“I not think you need to, Jack,” said Ilona in a shaky voice, pointing. “Look up there.”

Jack did as she suggested and saw that the fireball had set some of the rafters alight. The timbers, old, dry, and infused with ancient creosote were already burning away merrily and acrid smoke began to drift down towards them.

“Oh bloody ’ell,” said Jack wondering if Ilona would tell him off for swearing. The smoke started to catch at the back of his throat, and his eyes began to sting and water. Ilona started to bang on the door and shout. “Help! Help! Fire!”

With admirable presence of mind, given the circumstances, Jack slipped the wand up his sleeve and joined in, kicking the door and yelling, “Hey! Hey, you lot! Let us out!”

For a short time, Jack felt genuine fear that the kidnappers would not hear them shouting and he and Ilona would burn to death, which he suspected would be a very horrible way to die. But to his profound relief, soon there were raised voices from outside, and the door unlocked and swung open. 

The fair-haired poet-wizard stood there with Pig-face behind him. “What in the name of Merlin’s bollocks is going on?” He took in the burning roof and the thick smoke. “Keep hold of these two!” he ordered the big man who grabbed Jack and Ilona by an arm each.

Ilona twisted away. “Get your bloody pervert hands off me, I not run away!”

Pig-face let go of her as if she was a venomous snake.

The poet-wizard waved his wand, and exclaimed, _“Aguamenti!”_ A jet of water squirted from the end, and he sprayed it over the burning timbers until all the flames were out, and the smoke had turned to dirty steam. “How in Hades did that happen?” he demanded.

“Montaneous combushton,” said Jack, ingenuously. The young wizard looked both uncomprehending and suspicious. He took hold of Jack’s ear, motioned for Ilona and Pig-face to follow and led them into the other room where the other members of the gang stared at them.

“They can’t stay in there,” said the poet-wizard. “Everything is soaking wet and covered in soot. Half the roof has gone, and I haven’t time to fix it.” He looked at the big man. “Can you?”

“Ah,” the big wizard blustered. “I’m not too good at that sort ‘o thing.” He reached for the wand in the loose pocket of his long coat, and Jack’s heart started to thump so fast he thought the kidnappers must be able to hear it.

Pig-face’s sausage-like fingers were just resting at the top of the fake wand, when the poet-wizard said, “Leave it, we’re running out of time. We’ll have to keep the Muggles in here where we can keep an eye on them.” He pointed to a corner of the room. “Tie them together and put them over there.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Later in the afternoon, Harry found himself outside the address Dudley had given him. It was a half-timbered cottage with walls of warm pink brick and deep-set leaded glass windows. Harry rapped at the front door with the brass knocker. It was answered by an elderly man whose bald head was framed by a mist of fine snowy hair.

“Mr Prewett? Mr Isaac Prewett?”

The old man held the door open. “I think you had better come in, Auror Potter.”

“You know who I am?”

“I do.” No more information was forthcoming. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No thank you. I need to ask you some questions.”

“Yes, I thought you would. Will you take a seat?” The old man cleared a stack of books off a chair and put them on top of another pile of books on the floor.

“You are a wizard, I take it?” said Harry.

“I am a Squib, Mr Potter, as you would know if you had done your homework. I do hope the rest of your investigations will be rather more thorough.”

Harry was wrong-footed and had no answer.

He cleared his throat. “So. Ellen Smith,” he said. “What can you tell me about her?”

“Very little, I fear.”

Harry was annoyed. He had a strong suspicion that this fragile looking elderly man was far sharper and less harmless than he appeared.

He took Ellen’s wand out. “This wand was – Ellen’s. But it appears it used to belong to someone called Eileen Prince?”

“Ah.”

“So?”

“Well, Mr Potter, I’m sure you have surmised that Ellen Smith was none other than Eileen Snape. Née Prince.”

_At last_. “Carry on. How did you come to be listed as her next of kin, and what the hell is going on?”

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink? No? You won’t mind if I do?” Isaac left the room and returned a couple of minutes later carrying a cup and saucer. He sat down in an armchair and took an unhurried sip of his drink.

“Eileen had no-one else. When Severus died, she lost her own will to live, and she has been slowly dying up there at Laybrook Court for eleven years. It is not particularly unusual for wizards to retire anonymously into the Muggle world, and I have been employed on a number of such occasions over the years.”

Harry heard a door opening at the back of the cottage and a woman’s voice called, “Isaac! Are you home?” A huge, black dog, not unlike Padfoot, pushed his way into the room giving a curious bark at seeing Harry.

“Settle down, Albie,” said the woman, following the dog in. She looked up. “Harry! What on earth are you doing here?” 

Harry stood up in amazement, nearly knocking a small table over. “ _Julia?_ What are _you_ doing here?”

“I’ve known Isaac for years,” she said. “I visit all the time. I didn’t know you knew each other?”

“We’ve just met.” Harry rubbed his forehead.

The only person in the room who showed no sign of surprise was Isaac, and Harry and Julia both looked at him.

“Isaac,” said Julia, “what are you meddling in now? You know what happened last time.”

“All worked out in the end didn’t it?” Isaac protested. “But this time I’m innocent, Julia, I promise.”

“Innocent is as innocent does,” Julia said. “I don’t believe in coincidence.”

“Constant vigilance,” muttered Harry.

“Quite so,” agreed Julia. “So what on earth is all this about?”

“Sit down, both of you, you’re unsettling me!” said Isaac, fractiously.  “Julia, it appears that Harry has established Ellen’s true identity.”

“You know about this, Julia?” said Harry.

“I volunteer at Laybrook Court two or three times a week. I was there when Ellen ‒ or whoever she was ‒ died. But who was she then? And why are you so interested in that, Harry?

“I had a visit from my cousin Dudley, this morning.”

“Dudley?” Julia looked blank; then her face cleared. “You mean constable Dursley? He’s your cousin! No wonder he knew a wand when he saw it!” She turned to Isaac. “You knew that last night didn’t you! Why didn’t you say something?”

“I’m sorry Julia, I wasn’t sure, and I have to be discreet. Interactions between the wizarding and Muggle worlds have to be handled extremely sensitively.”

Julia snorted rudely. “So, if Ellen Smith wasn’t her real name,” her gaze moved between the two men, “what was it then?

“Before she married, she was Eileen Prince,” said Isaac, “but I shouldn’t expect that to mean anything to you.”

She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t.”

“When she married, she became Eileen Snape.”

“Snape?  Oh! Wasn’t that ‒?”

“She was Severus Snape’s mother. It was he who gave her the object she wore on a chain around her neck. The object that was missing from her body.”

“What object?” asked Harry. “Dudley didn’t mention that!”

“It didn’t look valuable,” said Julia. I remember seeing it. I thought it might have been an old token or something.”

“I have no idea what it was,” Isaac shrugged. “She didn’t know either. She only knew that Severus attached a great deal of importance to it, and he wanted her to look after it in case – something happened to him. Which of course, it did.”

Harry scratched his head. “That doesn’t help us in establishing who took it, or why, does it?”

“Harry, you don’t think this has anything to do with the break-in at the Ministry do you?” said Julia.

“Break-in?” asked Isaac, sharply.

“There was a burglary at the Ministry a few days ago,” Harry explained to Isaac, “but we would appreciate it if you could keep that to yourself. I can’t see any connection, myself.”

“What was taken?”

“A document was taken from the archives,” said Julia. “That’s why I went down there. But something else was taken too, wasn’t it, Harry? What was it again?”

“A thing called an Antikythera machine. Although I gather it was called that because of the place where it was found. Hector called it an Eversio machine.”

Isaac frowned. “Bathilda mentioned it in her _History of Magic_ didn’t she? I haven’t come across it anywhere else. More importantly, did you bring some of your shortbread, Julia?” He winked at Harry. “Julia’s shortbread is very good. You should try some. Can’t beat homemade. You’ll have a cup of tea now, won’t you?”

.

Harry was quiet. Drinking his tea, he listened to Julia and Isaac exchanging village gossip. The boy who had disappeared seemed to be notorious in the area. Some of the more facetious village wits had even expressed concern for his possible kidnappers, though such jokes were regarded as being in very bad taste.

Harry yawned as a wave of weariness swept over him, leaving him feeling strangely drained. His eyelids felt too heavy to keep open.

 

 

 


	12. Afflicted Powers

** Chapter Twelve: Afflicted Powers **

The ignominious failure of Jack’s escape attempt rankled; not least because, with six sets of eyes to avoid, opportunities for another attempt were severely curtailed. He and Ilona had been consigned to a corner piled with old packing crates; tied by the wrists, but with a long enough rope that they could move independently. Jack fiddled about with the binding for some time but could find no knot or loose end to work at. Magic knots, he decided, were altogether tricky things.

The other people in the room viewed them with varying degrees of interest. The breathless man’s dark eyes studied Jack with a perceptiveness that made him rather uncomfortable, and the thin, dark man looked at them in surprise sometimes, as if he had only just noticed them.

The other three men were harder to fathom and the alien kept well away. Jack almost wondered if it was afraid of them, although he could not see why it would be. He thought Pig-face was, though. And the tall man with glasses kept looking at the two prisoners as if they were infectious.

“We need some food!” demanded Ilona loudly. “You have try to poison us, are you starve us, now?”

Jack tried a more diplomatic approach. “Ilonas’ in a bad mood ‘cause she’s very hungry,” he explained, “and we’ll both be poorly if you don’t give us summat proper to eat. Can we have some food, please?”

The breathless man agreed, making no attempt to hide his amusement. “We need to feed them.” He addressed the alien in his rasping, accented voice. “You should take care of them, since no one else want to solve tricky problem of prisoners.”

The alien clasped its hands in front of its narrow chest, and closed its eyes, as if thinking. The large ears drooped, then perked up. It opened its eyes again. “You is correct,” it said firmly. “They is our responsibility.” It beckoned to the poet-wizard with a skinny finger.

.

A few minutes later, the wizard deposited two large tankards and a wide wooden platter with several fragrant golden pasties on the floor within reach of the prisoners. He regarded Jack with wariness, but Jack assumed his most guileless expression and said politely, “Thank you _very_ much.”  

He picked up one of the tankards and looked at the contents with some suspicion. “D’y think it’s poisonous?” he muttered to Ilona.

She sniffed at hers. “It smells good Jack. I not think they want to poison us. I try some.” She took a mouthful. Her eyes widened. “Oh Jack,” she breathed. “That is delicious!”

Jack watched her closely for a couple of minutes and nothing terrible happened. She did not start to choke or grow faint or foam at the mouth. In fact, some colour returned to her cheeks, and she looked better. Jack took a mouthful from the other cup. The honey-coloured drink was slightly sweet with a warm flavour he could not quite identify. He drank some more and looked at the plate with longing.

“Shall we try them pies, Ilona?”

“I think so, Jack, what we can lose now?”

This was what jack wanted to hear. He took a bite from one of the pasties. The pastry was soft and crumbly, and the filling had the same subtle, unidentifiable flavour as the drink, but was seasoned with herbs and pepper. It was not quite like anything he had eaten before, but he tucked in with enthusiasm, and so did Ilona, although she showed rather more restraint than Jack and did not drop as many crumbs or get so much filling on her face.

The big man observed them in wonder. “They’re eatin’ it!”

“For the love of Merlin! Of course they’re eating it! It’s food!” snapped the poet. “Cretin,” he added under his voice. But the big wizard was oblivious and watched Jack and Ilona like exotic animals in a zoo.

.

Jack felt very sleepy, and his chin dropped to his chest. He was practically asleep and grumbled resentfully when Ilona nudged him awake. “Look.”

Jack opened his eyes and yawned. Ilona was pointing at the gang. The breathless man was lying down and seemed to be unconscious. The thin, dark man was sitting upright on the floor with his eyes half closed and unfocused, absently chewing on something, with a trail of brown drool running down his unshaven chin. The tall man and Pig-face were both resting with their heads on the rough table. The poet’s head was tipped back, exposing a skinny neck with a prominent Adam’s apple. He gave a loud snore. The only one who seemed to be fully awake was the alien, who was motionless, its bulbous eyes observant, watching its colleagues.

Taking advantage of the situation, Jack shuffled on his backside to where he would be partly hidden behind a box, turned his back to the alien, slipped Pig-Face’s wand out of his sleeve, and tried to make some sparks again. The warm, tingly feeling had gone. He looked at the wand in dismay, seeing just a carved wooden stick, not a means of escape.

“Oh no, Ilona, it’s not workin’!” he whispered. “I can’t do it no more!” He felt tears threatening, sore in his eyes, sour at the back of his throat. He did not think he could bear it. He would not be able to go to the school in the castle with Megan next September. Would never be able to turn Ollie into a toad when he was being annoying. Was not a wizard after all.

He tried not to cry, but when Ilona pulled him into a gentle hug, shushing him like his mum did when he was out of sorts, he could not stop the hot tears from falling.

 

* * *

 

 

Kingsley scribbled his signature at the bottom of a sheet of parchment and pushed it to the back of his desk feeling an extraordinary wave of weariness. He put his quill down and leaned back in his chair allowing his eyes to drop closed for a few moments, half-aware that outside his office, the Ministry had become very quiet. The lights and window dimmed a little. He forced himself awake, shaking his head and stretching. Yawning, he picked up his wand and summoned a drink. Nothing happened. In disbelief, he looked at the end of his wand. He tapped it on the side of his desk and tried again, without success. Putting the wand down, he attempted to perform wandless magic, but the energy that should have flowed to the tips of his fingers was terrifyingly absent.

Almost unable to breathe, he sat and stared at his hands, then looked round to his window. It was fading into a ghostly mist. After a minute, he opened his laptop and switched it on. The screen was resolutely black. He fiddled with the twisted silver contraption that was plugged into one of the usb ports, but the machine was unresponsive.

A fear like nothing he had ever experienced gripped his lungs like a steel band, and after several more disbelieving seconds, Kingsley closed his laptop.

Outside his office, the noise level was rising, and he could hear raised voices and cries of distress.

Arthur burst in without knocking. “Kingsley, this is incredible! You’ll never believe what has happened!”

Kingsley put his head in his hands. “I just might. Try me.”

“Magic has stopped. Just stopped! Just like that!” Arthur snapped his fingers. “What do you think has caused this? I’ve never heard of it happening before! It’s quite amazing really!”

Kingsley did not share Arthur’s excitement. “You think so, do you, Arthur? The Ministry can’t function without magic. Unless it comes back very soon, we’ll have to get everyone out.” Kingsley pulled himself together, opened a drawer in his desk and took out a large key; heavy, plain and very old. He handed it to Arthur. “I’m putting you in charge of the evacuation. If anyone wants to stay down here and help,” he said, “be very grateful, but I expect most people will want to get home to their families. This will open the doors to the stairs that run from level eight to the emergency exit above the Owlery. There is an entrance on each level at the very end of the south corridors. If anyone is trapped in the lifts, there is a manual winch in the maintenance room on level two.”

“Oh Kingsley, isn’t this fascinating!”

Kingsley did not dignify the statement with a reply, and Arthur seemed to realise his remark had been less than tactful. “No, of course it’s not. Sorry, Kingsley. I’ll report back later.” He rummaged in a pocket. “Here, have some matches.”

Kingsley stood and picked up his laptop, but a few seconds after Arthur had left, the door burst open again, and a dishevelled and excited Hector rushed in. “Minister! I have caught you!”

“Doesn’t anybody bother to knock these days? It’s merely a formality, I know,” Kingsley grumbled. “We have quite a crisis here, Hector. Won’t this wait?”

“No it won’t. This crisis - It’s the machine!”

“The what?” Kingsley’s grip on his laptop loosened and he nearly dropped it. Kingsley’s window was now as black as his computer screen, and the lights were growing steadily dimmer.

He took a couple of candles from a drawer, lit them with one of Arthur’s matches, and handed one to Hector. “Tell me what you know.”

The Eversio machine!” Hector could hardly get the words out for his excitement. “This is what it does! Whoever took it, they have made it work! Something came back to me! Something Erasmus had a theory about. The machine is something to do with manipulating the particular energy that wizards use to do magic!”

“Merlin!” Kingsley remembered Hermione’s owl of the previous day and urgently leafed through some papers on his desk until he found it. By the light of the candle he read through it again.

“Hector,” he said, “I want you to find Arthur Weasley and tell him to send any elves in the Ministry to my office. Arthur and his staff are assisting those who wish to leave. They will show you the way out. I don’t think the lights will last a great deal longer. Conditions are likely to become rather ‒ difficult.”

Hector smiled and shook his head. “The movement of time is not dependent on magic, Minister. I have plenty of candles. My place is in the Time Room.”

“Then I must ask you to excuse me, Hector. I have to conduct some urgent business . . . upstairs.” Kingsley held the door open for Hector as he left the room, then got to his knees and searched under his desk for the cable he had never had to use. Fortunately, he had not thrown it away and found it in a tangle of wires under his desk. Clutching the laptop to his chest, he left the room.

.

.

Panting heavily from the long climb up several hundred narrow steps, Kingsley waited on a dark landing for several minutes until he had caught his breath and his heart rate had slowed. He opened a small door and glanced around to check he was unobserved, then emerged into a deserted side passage that had once been the province of an extensive domestic staff.

At the end of the corridor, he passed through another door into the main hallway. The lights were bright there, glittering in cut glass shades hung on long cables from ornate, moulded plaster ceiling roses. A thick carpet was fitted tight against walls hung with portraits of stern men wearing handlebar moustaches and military uniforms rich with medals. He slowed his pace to a brisk but dignified walk.

“Sir Kingsley!” A short, officious man in a pinstriped suit hailed him as he passed an open door, and followed him into the corridor. “We did not expect to see you here today! Can you spare some time to discuss the Foreign Aid budget? The Prime Minister is keen to see some progress.”

“Hawthorne.” With practised control, Kingsley expunged any trace of impatience from his tone. “Of course. If you could give me a few minutes? I have some calls to make. Perhaps I could come to your office in half an hour or so?”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Out on the side of Lay Hill, Padfoot marked out his terrain and desultorily scratched at a rabbit hole for a few minutes. A pheasant squawked into the bare lower branches of a tree in a panic of bronze feathers and fixed him with a resentful gaze. He inspected some fox droppings with annoyance and gnawed at a fallen branch to clean his teeth.

Satisfied that his territory was in no immediate danger from intruders, he began to make his way downhill to the cottage. Julia might be home now, and he did not like to be away from her for too long. Albie was a good enough lad, but Padfoot liked to keep an eye on things for himself. He seemed to recall she had been baking earlier on. Shortbread. One of his favourites.  He broke into an eager trot but paused for a while at the old hay barn at the back of the cottage to check for rats.

As he investigated among the mouldy bales of hay, a wave of exhaustion drained all his energy for a moment and he dropped to his belly, his head falling on to his paws and his eyes closing.

After a few minutes, he felt better and got to his feet, stretching and yawning. He wriggled the length of his spine and shook himself and ‒ nothing happened.  With a spontaneous yelp of shock, he stretched and twisted again.

In his doggy mind he felt for the power that ran in his veins ‒ the energy that made him what he was ‒ and found it missing.

In fear and helpless misery, he lifted his shaggy head skywards and gave a deep, involuntary howl.

 

* * *

 

 

 

When Harry realised he had eaten six pieces of Julia’s excellent shortbread, he decided it was probably time to be going and got to his feet.

“I’ll have to discuss all this with Minister Shacklebolt and Hermione Granger-Weasley,” he said. “I don’t see how the death of Eileen Prince and the disappearance of two Muggles can possibly be connected with the thefts from the Ministry, but it’s certainly a coincidence. Goodbye, Mr Prewett.”

“Won’t you come and say hello to Sirius?” asked Julia.

“Not just now,” said Harry. “I need to speak to Kingsley. Give him my best though, won’t you? I will visit soon. When we’ve sorted this lot out.”

He stepped through into the porch and flicked his wand to apparate away. He gave an involuntary yell. “What the‒!” He tried to apparate again, but nothing happened. He took his wand and gave it an anxious tap as if that might fix it and tried again.

Julia appeared at the door. “Harry? Did you shout?”

Isaac followed and stood behind her. “Mr Potter? Whatever is the matter?”

Harry was shaking uncontrollably and had to lean on the wall. “I – I can’t do magic.” Julia and Isaac stared at him.

“What, not at all? Has this happened before, Harry?” said Julia. “Perhaps you’re coming down with something.”

He shook his head, unable to talk. He was afraid that if he tried to speak he would start to wail like a child.

“Isaac,” said Julia, “have you ever heard of this happening before?”

“Not like this,” said Isaac. “It is possible for outside influences to interfere sometimes, and magic can be rendered ineffective in certain circumstances – as you know – but in all my years I have never seen it stop altogether. Never!”

“What am I going to do?” Harry asked, in bewilderment, close to tears. “I don’t know what to do!”

“Come home with me, Harry,” said Julia, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Perhaps Sirius will be able to help.”  

.

Julia clipped a lead to Albie’s collar and they walked the short distance to her cottage on the other side of the hill. Every so often, Harry would give his wand an experimental flick, muttering spells under his breath. He had never consciously been aware of the energy that ran from his body, through the wand and back, but now he recognised its absence.

He followed Julia round to the back of her cottage. “Sirius!” she called through the door. “Sweetheart?” There was no reply.

“He’s not inside,” she said. “His wand is here, though. Perhaps he’s out on the hill. Padfoot likes to go out there.” She went out into the garden. “Albie!” she called. “Go and find Sirius for me!”

Albie slipped through a gap at the side of the gate and into the field beyond. In less than a minute they heard a sharp bark.

Julia looked at Harry, her expression anxious. “Something’s wrong,” she said. “Come on!” They went out through the gate, and Harry saw a dilapidated open-sided hay barn some yards away. Julia ran  towards it and Harry followed. Albie was there, wagging his tail cheerfully enough, but Padfoot was lying motionless and miserable on the damp ground.

Julia went pale and dropped to his side ignoring the muddy ground. “Padfoot, Sweetie, what is it?” she lifted his head and looked into his eyes. “Oh my God, Harry!” She looked up, her face filled with fear. “I don’t think he can change back. It’s not just you!”

.

 

* * *

 

 


	13. Thither, Full Fraught

 

** Chapter Thirteen: Thither, Full Fraught **

 

Julia knelt in the wet grass beside the unhappy animal. “Oh Sweetie,” she whispered, stroking his ears. “Poor baby.”

At that moment, her mobile phone rang. She visibly tensed and looked at Harry, then took it out of her pocket. “I don’t recognise the number,” she said, getting to her feet. Her voice was tentative as she answered it.

“Hello? Oh, Kingsley! What?  Something’s happened hasn’t it, for you to be using a telephone?”

She listened, her gaze flicking between Harry and Padfoot.” I’m with Harry, now,” she said. “He can’t do any magic, and Sirius is trapped in his Animagus form.” She listened again.

“Right,” she said at last. “Keep in touch, Kingsley, please.” She hung up and put the telephone back in her pocket. Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a deep breath. “Magic has stopped working,” she said. “Well, everywhere to the south of Hadrian’s Wall it seems. They haven’t tracked the full extent of it yet, but apparently it hasn’t affected anywhere in Scotland or Ireland. But,” she continued, “Kingsley seems to think it is something to do with the Eversio machine.”

“Ginny!” said Harry, in a panic. “Ginny and the children! I’ve got to get back! How am I going to get back?”

“Well,” said Julia, “I’m going to drive you, of course.” She squatted down beside Padfoot and turned the great dog’s head to face her. “I need you with me now, Sweetie. We’ve work to do.” Padfoot scrambled to his feet and shook himself. She stood up. “Albie!” she called. “Leave that squirrel alone. Come here!”

“Oh Julia.” Harry felt faint with relief. “Are you sure? It’s a long way.”

“You need to get back,” she said. “I’ll have to bring the dogs with me. We can stay overnight at your place, can’t we? I don’t fancy driving all the way back tonight.”

“Of course,” he said. “I really am very grateful.”

"Will you have food in at home?”

“Probably not,” said Harry. “We don’t really plan very well these days. Unless you want breakfast cereal, I suppose.”

“No, I don’t,” said Julia decisively. “We’ll shop on the way. I’ll just grab a few things and then we’ll go.”

.

Julia’s idea of “a few things” was far more comprehensive than Harry’s would have been and included several saucepans and other unidentifiable items of kitchen equipment. Harry had to suppress his growing impatience, until at last Julia said, “I think that will do,” and picked a biscuit tin up from the kitchen table. She paused. “Would you mind, Harry?” She gestured towards Sirius’s wand. “We’d better take it with us.”

“You want me to pick it up for you?”

“Sirius doesn’t like me touching it. He fears some sort of magical emasculation.” Padfoot growled and she scratched his head. “I know it’s not working now, but still ‒”

Harry was puzzled. “Why would he worry about that? You won’t harm it, will you?”

Julia shrugged. “I’m not sure, to be honest, but Sirius says he’d rather not take the chance.”

“Is this something to do with the way the portrait of Sirius’s mother stopped shouting when you were there?” asked Harry. Do you have some special ability to, what –” he paused doubtfully. “ _Neutralise_ magic?”

She laughed. “I can see how it might appear that way, but sadly, I have no special abilities at all. Nothing that all Muggles don’t have, at least.”

“Blimey!” said Harry pausing with his hand on Sirius’s wand. “Can we talk about this properly sometime?”

“Of course,” she said. “But Kingsley or Isaac can probably explain better. Or Hermione,” she added, as an afterthought.

Harry rolled his eyes. “No one bloody tells me anything.” He picked the wand up and did a double-take. “This is really old! However did Sirius come by it?”

Julia was rummaging in her handbag and mumbled something that Harry didn’t quite catch. He almost thought she said, “Found it in the chimney.”

“I beg your pardon?” he said.

“Loosely speaking, I suppose it’s a family heirloom,” said Julia. “One day, Harry, when all this business is sorted out, you must come for a proper visit and we’ll tell you all about it. But not now. Time to go.” She urged him outside and locked the cottage door behind her.

She stacked the pots and pans in the boot of the car and Albie jumped in with alacrity, but Padfoot was extremely reluctant. She urged him in, almost heaving him on to the back seat.

“Sirius doesn’t like travelling in the car,” she said. “I don’t think Padfoot has ever been in one. I hope he doesn’t get sick.”

So did Harry.

Julia turned right on to the lane and they drove through the village, past the shop and the village hall, the church, the pub and the school where a police patrol car was parked outside. Then Layhill was behind them and the road ran for a little while beside a foamy, fast-running river, then up and into a flat landscape of fields until they joined the A5 and headed south-east.

Albie sat up and looked through the window with interest but after ten minutes, Padfoot began a low, ululating howl. Julia groaned between gritted teeth. “He can’t help it,” she explained. “He’s not doing it on purpose. It’s a reflex, like barking.” Harry rubbed his forehead.

He tried to ignore the noise, but soon his jaw was aching with tension and Julia looked very irritable. He looked over his shoulder into the back seat. Albie was dozing, obviously able to ignore the sound, but Padfoot’s ribs were now heaving in between howls, and a trail of drool was hanging from his mouth.

“Julia you’d better stop, I think Sirius – Padfoot is going to be sick!”

“Hell!” Abruptly, she braked and swerved into a layby causing the driver of a white van behind her to sound his horn angrily. She stuck two fingers up behind him as she jumped out of the car and opened the rear door. Padfoot rolled out and proceeded to vomit into the grass verge. Julia stroked his back, and Harry could see how upset she was. “Give us a minute, Harry, will you?” she said.

“Oh, sure, yes,” he said, “I’ll let Albie out for a minute.”

“Thanks,” she said, distracted, pulling Padfoot’s miserable head into her lap. She leaned down and started whispering into the great dog’s ear.  Harry leaned on the bonnet of the car and looked at them. Dog or godfather, he was embarrassed to be witnessing such a private moment and wandered off to the other end of the layby with Albie. A sign was partly obscured by the overhanging branch of a holly tree, and he lifted it aside to look. _Selwyn’s Mill_ it said, _Welcomes Careful Drivers_. He let the branch drop back and looked across the fields. He could not see a single building apart from the very top of a factory chimney poking out of a valley at least a mile away.

In a little while, Julia called him back to the car. Padfoot looked better, but subdued; his tail hardly twitching. Julia was pale, and Harry guessed she was struggling to maintain her calm.

“I hate to see him unhappy,” she said quietly. “Hate it. Tell me everything is going to be all right, Harry. Please.”

He put an arm around her shoulder and gave her a swift hug. “Everything is going to be all right, Julia. I promise.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I’m sorry, Harry, but you’ll have to get into the back with him. Come here. Look.” She scratched the back of Padfoot’s neck, and the dog’s eyes closed in pleasure. “Just here,” she said. “At the back of his neck. He loves being rubbed here. If you sit on the seat with him and rub his neck, I think it will keep him calm.”

Harry looked at her in horror. “You want me to rub the back of Sirius’s neck? All the way home?”

“Not Sirius!” she said, shocked. “That would just be weird! Padfoot’s neck!”

.

Resigned, Harry settled himself on the back seat with Padfoot’s head heavy on his lap. Albie jumped on to the front passenger seat.

“This must be illegal,” said Julia, “but never mind.” She started the engine and pulled out into the road again. “Um, Harry?”

“Yes?” Harry thought he detected a note of reticence.

“I had an email from Megan yesterday.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” He wondered why she expected him to be interested in this.

“She’s at Hogwarts.”

“I know she is,” he said. “Oh! I see what you mean. How did she find a computer? I thought they didn’t work there? And they’re banned anyway!”

“They are,” she said. “I’m not sure I should tell you, but, erm, Professor Longbottom?”

“Oh, good old Nev!” said Harry. “He does have a rebellious streak.”

“Well that’s not the point really,” said Julia.

“I didn’t think it was,” said Harry. “Perhaps you could explain?”

“She wanted me to go and see Jack’s mother, to tell her he was all right. And that he was in a place with a tower.”

“Jack? You mean the boy who’s been kidnapped?”

He saw the back of Julia’s head nod. “They’re friends, Megan and Jack.”

“How did she know he had been kidnapped so soon? Surely they don’t see Muggle news there?”

“No they don’t. She didn’t know he’d been kidnapped. That’s the point.”

Harry took his glasses off and polished them while he digested this information, until Padfoot started to whine, and he resumed his neck-scratching duty.

.

.

Ginny was relieved to see him. So relieved that she swore at him extensively before bursting into tears on his chest. The house was cold, and she was wearing outdoor robes. The children were bundled into thick coats.

Are you hungry? asked Julia, putting her cake tin on the table.

“Oh, Merlin!” moaned Ginny. “You’ve got food?”

“I find everything looks better on a full stomach.” Julia opened the tin. “Shortbread,” she said. “Harry’s already had loads; he doesn’t need any more.” Harry grinned and helped himself to another two pieces.  

“We called at the shop,” Julia said to Ginny. “Would you like me to cook dinner?”

“You _want_ to cook?” Ginny, an unenthusiastic cook at the best of times, was incredulous. “Be my guest!”

Julia gave Padfoot piece of shortbread. “Like old times, isn’t it, sweetie?” she said and he licked her fingers.

She caught Harry watching them and looked at him quizzically. “What?”

Harry cleared his throat. “Um, Padfoot is ‒ still Sirius, isn’t he?”

“Oh,” Julia looked back at the dog and rubbed gently between his brow ridges with the pad of her thumb. “Does he look like Sirius?”

“Ah, obviously not. Except for the eyes, I suppose.”

“Does he behave like Sirius?”

Harry sniggered. “You tell me.”

Julia laughed. “Sometimes. But no, Padfoot is not Sirius pretending to be a dog. Sirius is inside Padfoot just as Padfoot is inside Sirius. Sirius needs Padfoot more than Padfoot needs Sirius, though. But I‒” her voice cracked. “‒I need Sirius. I want him back, Harry.” Padfoot whined in agreement.

“Don’t worry, Julia, it’ll be fine,” said Harry with a conviction he was far from feeling.

The children seemed immune to the chill and were quite thrilled to have not one, but two, huge dogs to play with. Albie quickly became tired of having his tail and ears pulled and beat a dignified retreat into the porch, but Padfoot was tireless, even when Albus kept trying to climb on to his back. Harry wondered if he was deliberately keeping himself occupied.

.

“Right, then. Cooker?” said Julia, returning from her car loaded down with supermarket carrier bags.

With a sinking feeling, Harry, followed by James, led her into the kitchen and showed her the old-fashioned range, wondering what she would make of it.

“Excellent,” she said, cheerfully. “None of your new-fangled Muggle nonsense. Where do you think might be a good place to look for some firewood?”

“As it happens,” said Harry, relieved at her pragmatic approach, “there is quite a bit in a shed at the end of the garden. It’s been there since we moved in. We’ve never needed it, obviously. Are you sure you don’t mind, Julia? I am capable of putting a meal on the table you know, though I admit it’s a long time since I did it the Muggle way.”

“I need to keep busy, Harry. And what else is there for me to do? Anyway, I like to feed people. Well, what are we waiting for? James, would you like to help?”

“Anyway, Albus wants to help too,” said James.

She ruffled his hair. “Teamwork, that’s what we like!”

“There’s an old wheelbarrow outside somewhere, I think,” said Harry, tickled by his children’s enthusiasm for the novel situation.

“I’ve got a wheelbarrow too, anyway,” said James.

“So you have,” said Harry. “Go and get it then.”

.

A short while later the little procession traipsed down the path: Julia carrying an armful of logs, Harry pushing a loaded barrow, James with three logs piled in his little wheelbarrow, Albus toddling behind clutching a small one in his chubby hands, and Albie bringing up the rear with a branch in his mouth.

.

Julia opened the stove door and prodded the inside with a poker. “Have you any newspaper?”

Harry found a number of old copies of the Quibbler under the sofa and took them in to Julia. She knelt down and started screwing them up, but became distracted when an article caught her attention. “Sorry,” she said absently, “I have a habit of doing this. Who are these people? _Confederacy Liberatum?_ ” She pressed some wrinkles out of the paper and lifted it up to show him. “Some sort of pressure group? But what a bizarre set of demands they have! _‘Rights for gnomes! An end to the unacceptable tradition of dressing stunned gnomes and using them as Christmas decorations!_ ’ Is that even a thing that people do?”

“It is, actually,” admitted Harry. “The Weasleys do it.”

Julia made a face. “That’s positively medieval! I’ve never seen a gnome, you know.”

“Haven’t you? I’m sure we’ve got some in the garden. I’ll show you one if you like.”

“Another time maybe,” she said. “But, oh! _‘Assistance for wizards suffering distress as a result of magical trauma.’_ That sounds like PTSD! You mean you people still haven’t started taking care of this?”

He must have looked blank because she added, “You haven’t, have you? You don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Well,” he said, defensively. “I do, sort of. Hermione talks about it sometimes.”

“Sort of!” she said in disgust. “I can’t believe it! After all this time. I suppose you still abandon people when they’re suffering, like you did with Sirius. Well, not you personally,” she allowed. “Obviously, you were just a boy. But the others. Albus. The Order. They just left him to rot in that damn house because they didn’t know what to do with him.”

“Julia,” Harry reasoned, “I don’t think it was quite like that.”

“Don’t you, Harry? It’s what I remember. Anyway,” she flapped the paper, “I think these people-” she looked at the page again, “ _Confederacy Liberatum_. I think they have some valid points.” She looked again. “Good heavens! Is that a poem? _‘Arising from millennial aeons sleep, Awakens now the Warrior from the deep!_ ’” she muttered. “That’s awful. There should be a law against it. Bad poetry.” She pulled herself together, saying briskly, “Right. You can leave me to it now. Make yourself useful.” She took a box of matches from her pocket and threw them to him. “Take some logs into the sitting room and light the fire.”

.

While the children were busy with Padfoot doing things their father preferred not to know about, Harry half-listened to the rattle of pans from the kitchen and Ginny’s irritable grumbling as she brushed the morning’s dried mud from her training kit. Warm smells started to drift through the house. He leaned on the windowsill as dusk fell, and dropped into a near-doze watching a blackbird out in the garden engaged in a determined struggle with a worm.

.

 

A couple of hours later, they were eating a tasty casserole by candlelight. Harry was observing Albus surreptitiously feeding Padfoot pieces of sausage under the table when the back door opened and someone called, “Cooee! Anyone home?”

A tall, elegant grey-haired woman came into the room. “Oh, you’ve got a visitor! I’m so sorry to intrude! Can you squeeze a couple more in? It’s pretty grim at home.”

“Of course we can, Andromeda,” said Harry, standing up and beckoning her in. “Have you eaten? Where’s Teddy?”

“Teddy?” She looked round. “Oh good grief, that boy! What’s he doing now?” There was a distressed canine squeal from the direction of the back door.

Andromeda shot back the way she had come, yelling, “ _Edward!”_

Julia jumped up. “Albie!” She hurried out after Andromeda, and Harry followed the two women out to the back porch. A nasty smell of burning fur caught at the back of his throat.  

“What have you done, Teddy?” yelled Andromeda, furiously.

“I’m sorry!” cried Teddy, “I didn’t mean to!” He was fighting back tears.

Julia was kneeling by Albie, rubbing singed fur from his tail. “He’s not hurt,” she said with relief, “just shocked.” She looked towards Teddy. “Edward Lupin, I presume? You look like your mum.”

Andromeda had a firm grip on Teddy’s ear with one hand, and was prising his fingers open with the other.

“Matches! How did you get hold of these?”

“I just found ‘em!” whined Teddy, grimacing in discomfort.

“Oh lord!” exclaimed Julia. “They’re mine! I must have left them out here. Don’t be too hard on him, it’s my fault.”

“Teddy knows perfectly well what matches are,” said Andromeda. “And he knows perfectly well he’s not to play with them! Edward give them back to –?”

“Julia – Jules.”

“Give them back to Jules.” With some reluctance, the boy passed the box over to Julia who opened it and looked inside. She held her hand out. “And the rest.”

Teddy gave a deep sigh and emptied his pockets, depositing a number of unused matches into her palm.

Andromeda crouched down beside Albie. “I apologise for my grandson. What a handsome fellow you are,” she said. He licked her hand. “You remind me of a dog I was very fond of once.” She rubbed his chest then stood up. As she turned, she exclaimed, “Oh my goodness, you have two of them! I bet you have your hands full with this pair, they’re huge!”

She paused and a look of disquiet crossed her face. Her forehead creased. “Those eyes are such a strange colour for a dog, I ‒” she looked back at Albie, then at Julia, then Harry.

“What, in the name of Merlin –?” Padfoot was motionless, his silver eyes fixed on Andromeda. She grabbed the doorframe for support. “Is this real?” Her eyes were full of tears. “If this is a joke, it’s cruel.”

“It’s not a joke,” said Harry, quietly.

She dropped to her knees in front of Padfoot and took his face in her hands. “It _is_ you isn’t it?” She closed her eyes and buried her face in his coat. “Oh, Merlin. Sirius!” Padfoot licked her cheek.

After a few moments she smoothed her hands over her face and straightened up. “Would someone like to tell me what’s going on? And if this really is Sirius, is he like this all the time, or is it ‒ this business?” she waved her hand around vaguely.

“He’s stuck in his Animagus form at the moment,” said Julia, “I sincerely hope it’s not permanent.”

“So, who,” said Andromeda looking at Julia, warily, “exactly, are you? And what have you got to do with Sirius?”

“Long story.” Harry and Julia spoke simultaneously, and grinned at each other. 

.

Harry led Andromeda into the sitting room and dusted crumbs off the best armchair. “Take a seat, Andromeda. How did you get here?”

“I drove, of course.” she said.

“I didn’t know you could drive?” Harry was surprised.

“Oh yes, Ted taught me years ago. I like to keep my hand in. Just as well, don’t you think?”

“I do,” he agreed.  “Can I get you a drink?”

“I need one,” said Andromeda. “Have you got any Firewhisky?”

“Ah, I don’t think we have, sorry.”

“Just as well I brought some with me, then,” she said, getting up again. “I’ll go and get it out of the car.”

.

Eventually, the children were sorted into their various beds and Padfoot was on babysitting duty. Harry tried to ignore the distant bumps and giggles that indicated Padfoot’s idea of responsible childcare differed in many fundamental ways from his own, and wondered when he had grown so old.

Andromeda dispensed glasses of firewhisky and sat back with her feet up on a stool.

“Don’t worry about your mum and dad,” she said to Ginny, “I dropped Arthur at the station so he could catch a train home. He seemed to be quite excited about it all, I have to say.”

“He would be,” smiled Ginny. “I’m more worried about Ron. He’ll be hopeless.”

“Yes he will,” agreed Harry, “but Hermione is more than capable of dealing with this, and I know they have a phone. So don’t worry, Gin.” He leaned over and kissed her.

Andromeda swirled the firewhisky around her glass then took a deep mouthful. “Arthur told me this business is something to do with a theft from the Ministry last weekend. What’s going on, Harry?”

“Your guess is probably as good as mine,” admitted Harry, with a sigh.

“And,” said Andromeda, the firewhisky making her talkative. “What, in Merlin’s name is happening with Azkaban? I can’t believe they released Dolohov!”

Julia jumped so hard, her drink splashed down her front. She looked horrified. “You’re saying Dolohov is out of Azkaban? When did that happen?”

Curious, Harry looked at her, wondering why she was so interested in a Death-Eater he assumed she had never met. “Um, a couple of weeks ago. We might still have the newspaper report. Do you know where it is, Ginny?”

Ginny looked through the pile of old papers on the table at her side. “Here it is,” she said, smoothing the page and passing it to Julia.

_“‘Azkaban announces amnesty’_ ,” read Julia, “blah blah _. ‘The names of those released are confirmed as Antonin Dolohov and ‘Myklos Zmyslony.’_ Bloody hell.” The colour had drained from her face, and she looked ill. “How am I going to tell Sirius?” She read on. “ _This release follows the freeing of former Death Eater, Erasmus P_ ‒’ something, it’s smudged, ‘ _last month._ ’”

“We think it’s Pringle,” said Harry. “But are you sure that says Erasmus?”

Julia handed the paper over.

“You’re right,” said Harry, looking at it, “so it does.” He put the paper on his lap and mused. “I wonder . . . if that’s the same Erasmus who used to be Hector’s apprentice, it explains something else.”

“Bloody hell,” Julia sank back into her chair. “Sirius swore he’d seen Dolohov on the television, but I didn’t believe him. I thought he was imagining things.”

Harry stared at her. “Dolohov? On the _television?”_

“Well, it was just a face in a crowd, really. During a news report.”

“A news report!” A prickle of suspicion was growing in Harry’s mind. “What news report?”

Julia scratched her head and closed her eyes. “I can’t quite remember – some old chap was assaulted in Layford. That’s the nearest town to the village where I live. I don’t think any motive was established. The police thought it might have been a racist attack, but that seems unlikely to me. Not round there.”

Ignoring Ginny’s questioning look, Harry abruptly got up and left the room to go in search of somewhere he could be alone. He sat on the stairs in the dark, sipping at his firewhisky.

In just six days, his world had turned upside down. The Ministry he had taken for granted as a bastion of security and permanence was not so secure after all; the infallible Kingsley Shacklebolt was as human as everyone else. The godfather he had spent thirteen years grieving for had returned in a way no one seemed to fully understand, and now Harry was not sure he had ever really known him at all. Antonin Dolohov was on the loose, and a witch Harry had believed long dead turned out to have been living in a Muggle old folks’ home for over a decade. He had discovered that Andromeda Tonks could drive a car and that he might quite like his cousin Dudley, after all. And to top it all, magic had stopped working.

He tried to martial his thoughts into some sort of order.

Kingsley had suspected the released prisoner ‒ Zmyslony ‒ of involvement in the theft of the machine that was, apparently, the cause of the current uncomfortable state of affairs. If Erasmus Pringle was the same Erasmus who had been Hector’s apprentice ‒ and Harry would lay a hundred Galleons that it was ‒ he must also have been involved in the theft. Now it appeared that Dolohov had been present at a different crime scene – one that had no conceivable connection to the theft from the Ministry, but was near to the place where Eileen Prince had died and two Muggles had disappeared.

Was that just coincidence? The pricking at the back of his neck told him otherwise. And Harry was sure that the _Confederacy Liberatum_ group had something to do with it, too. But what?

In normal circumstances, he would have gone back to the Ministry and asked Hector to confirm the name of his apprentice. Harry cursed himself for not asking such a basic question earlier, but there was no point in trying to get to the Ministry now. Azkaban might hold clues too, but he could not get there either, without magic.

He had to do _something_ ‒ but where else could he go?

.

After a few minutes, he went back into the living room. He squeezed beside Ginny on the sofa and put his arm around her.

Andromeda was becoming garrulous. “Cissy once told me that Bella had a bit of a thing for Antonin Dolohov, you know!.”

“No!” Ginny giggled disbelievingly. “Did she?”

Harry glanced at Julia, whose expression was grim.

“She did, yes. His family had property in the Midlands, you know.”

“I thought he was Russian?” said Harry.

His father was, yes. His mother was a Selwyn, didn’t you know? They had connections with some Muggle industrialist. He provided the Death Eaters with one of their hideouts. Bella complained about it. Not as fancy as Malfoy Manor, apparently.”

Harry made a spur-of-the-moment decision. “If we’re still ‒ like this ‒ tomorrow, I want to go up to Scotland. I’ll have to go on the train.” He looked at Julia. I haven’t been on a Muggle train in years.”

Julia took her mobile phone out of her pocket and looked at it. “I’ve got a signal!” she said in surprise. “Oh, of course ‒ no magical interference! Just give me a minute to get some train times.” She disappeared into the kitchen and returned ten minutes later with a scrap of paper in her hand.

“You’ll need to go from Peterborough,” she said. “The eight-fifteen is due into Edinburgh at ten past twelve ‒ but I suppose you’ll be able to apparate once you get into Scotland. Then the five o’ clock train is due back in at quarter to nine. One of us can run you to the station in the morning and pick you up later, if you like?”

“Let me do that,” said Andromeda. “I want to be useful.”

“Do you think that will give you long enough, Harry?” asked Julia.

Harry nodded. “I reckon so. Thanks Julia.”

There was an unexpected _crack_ from the direction of the porch followed by sharp, alarmed barking from Albie.

“Harry!” said Ginny, “that sounded like – Are we-?” She grabbed her wand and waved it, but nothing happened and her face fell. At the same time, there was a knock on the sitting room door. Harry opened it. “What the – how – Kreacher! How did you –?”

“Mr and Mrs Potter,” said the elf with a respectful bow. “Mrs Tonks.” He looked at Julia and did not dignify her with a name but inclined his head ever so slightly. Harry heard Padfoot bump and slide down the stairs, then he skidded into the room from the hall, growling wildly.  His upper lip curled back exposing his sharp teeth and froth gathered in the corners of his mouth. “Sweetie, no,” said Julia resting her hand on his head. The growling grew quieter, but did not quite stop.

Kreacher pointedly ignored Padfoot and addressed Harry."Kreacher is coming to see if Mr and Mrs Potter is needing any assistance, sir. Minister Shacklebolt is requesting aid from the elves in the Ministry, sir, but Kreacher’s first duty is to Mr Potter, sir.”

Harry collected himself. “How are you still able to use magic, Kreacher?”

“Elf magic is drawn from a different source than wizards’ magic, Mr Potter, sir. The _Ielfe Wyrcan._ It is only the _Leode Wyrcan_ that is being affected at this time, sir. Does Mr and Mrs Potter require any assistance?” he repeated.

Harry was nonplussed. “Er, I’m not sure.” He looked at Ginny, who shrugged. “You could let Mum and Dad know we’re all right?”

The elf bowed again. “Kreacher will be honoured to do that, mistress.”

“I don’t suppose you can apparate us, Kreacher?”said Harry, hopefully.

“Kreacher apologises, Mr Potter sir, but Kreacher would be afraid of splinching wizards without wizard magic to draw on. Does Kreacher have Master’s permission to assist Minister Shacklebolt?”

“Oh. Yes, yes, of course, Kreacher. Go ahead.”

Kreacher’s protuberant eyes held an unfamiliar glint as they flicked between Padfoot and Julia. “They is very careful who they allows behind the Veil,” he said. “They is not letting just anyone stay there.” He cackled, and with another _crack_ he was gone.

Harry and Ginny looked at each other.

Julia’s mouth was hanging open in an unbecoming fashion. “Did‒ did Kreacher just– did he just make a _joke?”_

Padfoot gave a loud bark. It sounded very much like a laugh.

 

 

                                                                                                                               

 


	14. With Purpose to Explore

** Chapter Fourteen: With Purpose to Explore **

 

Over an early breakfast, a tearful Ginny said, “Harry, it will come back, won’t it? This is horrible. I can’t imagine not being able to fly. And these nappies!”

“Welcome to my world,” said Julia, mildly, spooning cereal into an unusually co-operative Albus, as Padfoot mopped up the residue from the floor.

Harry felt a great weight of responsibility and reassured Ginny with a hug, as he had done for Julia the previous day.

.

Julia gave Harry a roll of banknotes. “Just over a hundred pounds, Harry. This is plenty to pay for a return ticket and get some coffee on the train.”

“Thanks Julia,” he said, “I’m very grateful.”

“Don’t be silly.” She looked him up and down. “What are you going to wear, Harry? You can’t wear your robes! Surely you must have some Muggle clothes?”

“Ah, you’re right.” Harry scowled and considered. “I‘ve got a suit I bought a couple of years ago. I’ll wear that.”

He found the funeral suit at the back of his wardrobe and put it on, finding it tighter about the waist than he remembered. He went downstairs.

Julia looked less than impressed and grimaced. “It’s a bit creased, Harry. And whatever is that on your shoulder? It looks like baby sick.”

He squinted sideways. “Huh?”

“I expect that’s because it is baby sick,” said Ginny, looking slightly embarrassed.

“Honestly,” said Julia. “You can do magic. If anyone has no excuse not to clean things up, it’s you lot. Sirius is just as bad. We can’t clean it now – you need to leave in a few minutes. Wait there.” She disappeared outside, and returned carrying a leather jacket with a sheepskin collar. She handed it to him. “Sirius’s flying jacket. Have you got anything resembling a pair of jeans?”

.

Harry shrugged the coat on, finding it unexpectedly heavy and very warm.

“It feels strange,” said Julia. “Seeing someone else wearing it. You’ll look after, it won’t you, Harry?”

“Of course I will,” he said. He rubbed the thick leather thoughtfully. “I’ve always felt he wasn’t far away, you know,” he said. “Strange isn’t it?”

Julia shook her head. “Not strange, Harry. You are never out of his thoughts. You and James.”

On a whim, Harry took his invisibility cloak from the inner pocket of his Auror’s robe and shook it out. It appeared to be nothing more than a large, fine silk square, of a slightly iridescent pale grey.

“Whatever’s that?” said Julia. “Oh!” realisation dawned. “That’s your dad’s invisibility cloak isn’t it? Sirius told me about it.” 

Harry folded the cloak into a small bundle and tucked it into Sirius’s jacket. “You’ll be all right here, won’t you?”

“Of course we will,” said Julia firmly. “Won’t we, Ginny?” Ginny gave him a watery smile but looked unconvinced.

.

Andromeda’s smart white car was parked beside Julia’s rather muddy red one, and the interior, too, was much cleaner, without a sprinkling of dog hairs and the faint smell of damp canine. She drove Harry to the station and dropped him off outside, promising to meet him at the same place in the evening.

It was a long time since Harry had used Muggle money. When some initial confusion had been resolved with the assistance of a pretty girl in the ticket office, Harry found himself seated in a crowded and slightly under-heated railway carriage. As the train pulled away from the platform and the town gave way to the flat expanse of the fens, Harry was encouraged by the feeling that he was doing something; though quite what, he did not know.

Three hours later and a few miles beyond Berwick-upon-Tweed, Harry suddenly felt the energising rush of magic sweep through him and heaved a sigh of relief. Impatient, he made his way to the toilet, and almost before the door slid shut behind him, he had apparated into Hogsmeade.

.

Standing outside the Three Broomsticks, he started to have doubts. He had made the impulsive decision to travel north without making a plan for what he would do when he arrived. A glass of butterbeer was an appealing idea, and he ducked through the low doorway into the welcoming interior. He ordered a drink from the young woman behind the bar, and asked, “Is Madam Rosmerta here?”

“She is,” said the young woman, with a flirtatious glance. “Aren’t I good enough?” Harry smiled politely.

“She’s out back. Would you like me to give her a shout? Who shall I say wants her?”

“Oh, Harry Potter.”

The young woman’s eyes widened. Harry felt the familiar twinge of irritation and wished he had not been so careless.

“Harry Potter!” Her voice dropped an octave and she batted her eyelids at him. “Are you sure it’s Rosmerta you want?”

“Very sure,” said Harry, curtly. “I’ll be sitting over there.” He jerked his head towards the window and shoved some coins over the bar. The woman seemed disappointed and slammed the door noisily behind her as she went out.

.

A few minutes later, Rosmerta swept Harry into a warm, scented hug, kissing him soundly on the lips. “Harry Potter!” She squeezed his biceps. “Ooh, haven’t you filled out nicely! Nice jacket, too!”

He felt cheered and wished Ron was here to see. Rosmerta was still a handsome woman.

She sat down opposite him. “Is this a social visit?”

“Not exactly. Do you know about the, ah, problems we’re having down south?”

“I’ve been hearing rumours. It’s true then?” Her eyes widened. “No one can do magic anymore?”

“Apparently so. I expect everyone will head up here if we don’t sort it out soon. You haven’t heard any gossip over the last few weeks, I suppose?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, Harry, not a thing. The Hog’s Head is probably a better bet for information. Why don't you have a word with Aberforth? He’s slowed down quite a bit, but he’s still as sharp as a razor, and he keeps his ear to the ground. There’s not much gets past him.”

“Thanks Rosmerta.” Harry drained his glass and stood up. “I’ll do that.”

“You’ll probably find him in the yard with his goats,” she told him. “Good luck, Auror Potter!” She winked and blew him a kiss.

 

* * *

 

 

 

When Dudley arrived at work for his Sunday shift, the station was quiet. Saturday night had been relatively uneventful, and there was only one drunk-and-disorderly inmate in a cell to be cautioned and released. He filled out various dull but necessary forms and made some telephone calls, but by the middle of the morning, his paperwork was up to date.

He was due to talk to a meeting of Layford Homewatch in the Civic Hall at eleven, but he did not need to leave for half an hour.  With no expectation of finding anything useful, Dudley read through the statements taken on the day of Ilona and Jack’s disappearance. Nothing new occurred to him, so on a whim, he started to read the few reports and witness statements about the attack on Ken Perks.  Halfway through, he stopped, went a little way back, and read through Ken’s next-door neighbour’s statement again.

It was written in the oddly stilted way such statements are, but it was very clear. ‘ _I was upstairs and looked out through the window to see if it was still raining. My attention was drawn by two men in the street who were wearing strange clothes_. _I thought they must be Jehovah’s Witnesses or something of a similar nature. They knocked first at the house on the other side of Mr Perks’ house to my own, but received no reply, at which point they went to Mr Perks’ door.  They were wearing unusual long coats and distinctive pointed hats. They gave the impression of being in fancy dress.’_

With a low, prolonged groan, Dudley’s head drooped until his forehead rested on the desk. “Fancy bloody dress,” he moaned. “How can I have missed that? What a wazzock I am.”

 He looked up at the clock on the wall. Ten-thirty. It was time to go.

.

On his way through the Civic Hall foyer, Dudley found himself entangled in a queue of excited youngsters waiting to go into the main function room where a film was being shown. He glanced at the posters on the door. _Arcturus Dark – Transgalactic Privateer_. He recognised the title from the game that had been found in the churchyard, and with a sharp pang of anxiety, he thought of young Jack and Ilona.  He hoped that they were, at least, together ‒ wherever that might be.

.

He gave his unmemorable presentation on autopilot and was finished shortly before midday. He accepted the offer of a sandwich from the cafeteria and ate it as he drove to Leslie Barrett’s house.

Mr Barrett seemed pleased to see him, and more than happy to talk. He presented Dudley with a large mug of tea the colour of mahogany that made his teeth feel dry. “Do you know how Ken is?” he asked. “I ‘aven’t been able to go and see ‘im.”

“No change as far as I know,” said Dudley. “I was just hoping to run through what you can remember again. Can you remind me of what happened after you had seen the two men leave Mr Perks’ house?”

“Well,” said Mr Barrett, “I don’t know why, but I thought I’d just pop round to make sure nothing was wrong ‒ and found Ken sittin on the floor. ‘E‒ ‘e didn’t recognise me. Didn’t know anything! Couldn’t remember ‘is own name nor nothin’. I thought ‘e’d mebbe ‘ad a stroke, so I called the ambulance.”

“Was there any sign of a struggle?”

“No. Well like I said to the other officers, ‘e didn’t seem to have fallen over. ‘E was just sittin’ there! The on’y other thing as I remembered is – well I can’t see as ‘ow it’s important, but when I first found ‘im, I thought there was a funny wooden stick lyin’ on the floor. But later on when I asked about it, no one‘d seen it. Mebbe I imagined it.”

“Hm. Perhaps,” said Dudley. “But he wasn’t robbed, was he? That leaves us with the question of why this happened. Those men wanted something from Ken, but what? You said they knocked at the house next door first. Do you know who lives there?”

“Ay, it’s a young couple but they’ve only been there six months. It’s been rented out for a few years, but no one stays very long. It was empty for a good while after Ellen went into a home.”     

A chill ran down Dudley’s spine. “Ellen?” He asked. “Not ‒ Ellen Smith?”

“That’s right!” said Mr Barrett. “She and Ken were quite friendly. They still send each other Christmas cards.”

“So Ken knew where Ellen lived, then?”

“Well, o’ course he did!”

Dudley finished his tea, thoughtfully.

.

When he arrived back at the station, he found Dawn at the reception desk. “I didn’t know you were on duty today, Sarge! Is Sally-Anne here? I could do with a word.” He assumed Dawn knew her sister was a witch, but did not feel it was a question he could ask outright.

Dawn came round the desk to him. “She is,” she said, her voice low, “but she’s a bit upset at the moment.”

“Upset?” said Dudley. “What about?” A horrible thought struck him. “Oh Dawn, it’s not your granddad is it?”

“Oh no,” she reassured him. “It’s, erm‒” she glanced round. “Come with me, she’s in one of the interview rooms.”

Sally-Anne’s face was drawn, and she was repeatedly twisting a shredded piece of paper in her hands.

“What on earth has happened?” asked Dudley.

Sally-Anne seemed unable to speak, and Dawn answered for her ‒ at the same time satisfying Dudley’s curiosity. “Her magic has stopped working. She can’t do it any more. Well,” Dawn modified, “it’s not just her, all wizards’ and witches’ magic has stopped. Her boss called her mobile phone. Just as well she uses one; not many of them do.”

Dudley tried without success to suppress the mean surge of amusement that flooded him. He risked glancing at Dawn and thought she, too, was not as sorry for her sister as she might have been.

He sat down opposite Sally-Anne. “I don’t suppose you know why it’s happened?”

She shook her head.

“Has it ever happened before?”

She shook her head again.

“That’s very strange,” he said, unhelpfully. “Well, it might not to be the best time to tell you this, but I think I’ve realised something about the attack on your granddad.”

Both women stared at him. Sally-Anne regained a spark of interest. “You’d better tell us.”

Dudley waved Dawn into the remaining seat and told them what he had discovered. “And,” he said, “Ellen Smith was the name of the old lady who died at Laybrook Court while I was there the other day, do you remember?” He looked at Dawn.

“Of course I do,” she said. “But I thought the doctor said it was natural causes?”

“He did,” said Dudley, “but I don’t think it was. When I saw the body, it was ‒ well ‒ odd.  And she had a wand.”

“Oh, Merlin!” breathed Sally-Anne. “This must be connected with the kidnappings somehow! Grandad’s loss of memory isn’t really a medical problem, is it? It’s a magical one! No wonder the Muggle scans didn’t find anything. Whoever those people were, they tried to do a memory modification charm on him and messed it up!”

“Can you fix it, Sally?” asked Dawn. “When you get your magic back, that is.”

“ _If_ I get my magic back,” Sally-Anne said, pessimistically. “But, no. I can do a simple reversal of a properly administered charm ‒ it’s basic military training. But I daren’t even try with something that has gone so badly wrong. It will take an expert. I need to tell Harry ‒ but I can’t get in touch with him! The only person I can call is the Minister, and I expect he’s got rather a lot on his plate at the moment.”

 “Harry won’t be able to do anything without magic either, will he?” said Dudley. “None of us can do a thing at the moment. We’ll have to wait this out.”

 

* * *

 

 

Early in the day, before the daylight was strong enough to make much impact on the gloom, the alien had gathered the gang together and hopped up on to the table to address them. Although it stayed as far away from the prisoners as possible, the alien’s voice was piercing, and Jack could hear every word.  Most of it made little sense to him, but it reminded Jack a bit of the way Miss Sharples spoke to his class before they had a test or an especially important assembly. The creature spoke about something called a Ministry and seemed to think the gang was an army, which even Jack with his limited experience, found hard to believe. One thing he had gathered though, to his immense relief, was that the current lack of magical energy was likely to be temporary.

Soon after magic had stopped working, the alien had, without getting too close too close to them, released the cord that fastened Jack and Ilona together. Subsequently, the poet had tied it again with some sort of non-magical knot, and while the gang were being addressed by the alien, Jack practised untying and retying it until he could do it very quickly. Although another escape plan was a distant prospect, his irrepressible optimism had returned, and it was good to be prepared. He thought it prudent not to draw attention to the fact, but he wondered at kidnappers who could not tie a simple knot properly.

.

No one had ever accused Jack of being a sensitive boy, but he was an observant one, and even he could tell the atmosphere in the room was strained. The shattering devastation he had felt when he had first found himself unable to do any magic had been tempered by the realisation that none of the other wizards could do magic at the moment either. And that was making some of them understandably irritable.

“How much longer will we be like this?” The biggest wizard complained.

The tall man sniffed and pushed his glasses up his nose. “We need long enough for the Ministry to fully appreciate its vulnerability. In addition, for the machine to collect sufficient energy to be of further use, it will need to remain switched on for another eighteen hours.”

“Eighteen hours! When will that be then?”

“For Morrigan’s sake!” The poet glared at the big man. “In the middle of the night tonight, you fool.”

The alien’s speech seemed to be approaching a climax. Its voice was earnest and penetrating, reverberating under the rafters. “You is working for the greater good, wizards! You is soldiers for justice! We has a glorious cause. Now, you has to be strong, patient wizards!”

.

The day dragged on. Outside, it was freezing cold, and damp. Even the infrequent accompanied trips out into the yard hardly broke the tedium. Ilona chewed her fingernails, twisted her hair into rats’ tails, and occasionally cried. The spirited resistance she had shown the day before seemed to have evaporated. Jack started scratching swear words into the side of a box with a nail and covertly studied the gang members, who were spread around the shadowy space engaged in their own ways of passing the time.

The tall man with glasses ignored the prisoners completely, acting as if they were not there, and kept tinkering with the small machine that hummed and glowed on a little table. The thin man shifted between periods of being still, chewing, with his eyes half-closed, and episodes of frenetic activity accompanied by muttered conversations with invisible companions.

To Jack’s disappointment, the alien kept some distance away, until at one point in the middle of the day, it inadvertently ventured closer. Jack was not a shy boy, and keen to engage it in conversation. “Where’s your ship?” he asked in a friendly voice.

The alien’s large, watery eyes met his curious ones and grew even bigger. After a moment it turned and looked behind it to see who Jack was talking to. “Y’know,” encouraged Jack. “Your space ship?” The alien gave a little squeak and scampered away.

Jack sighed in disappointment and started to make a model of the _Terapene_ from some fragments of wire lying about on the floor. But twisting the wires together made his fingers sore, and his progress was slow and unsatisfying. So instead, he concentrated on eavesdropping.

Pig-face was sitting nearest to them using an old tea chest as a table, and Jack watched him with some anxiety. When the big man took his wand out of his pocket and his face developed an expression of bemusement, Jack bit his lip and closed his eyes, waiting for some terrible retribution. But nothing happened, and when Jack opened his eyes again, the big man was still staring at the wand.

After a minute, he sidled over to the poet who was engaged with his notepad and pen. “What’s that you’re you writing with?”

“This?” The poet held his pen up. “It’s a Bye-Row. A Muggle invention. It works as well as a quill even without magic! Marvellous really,” he said fondly, and bent his head to his work once more.

The big man leaned closer to the poet and spoke in a low voice. Jack had to strain hard to hear what he was saying.

“Does your wand look the same? I mean‒ does it look different now the magic isn’t working?”

The fair man made an impatient noise and looked up from his writing. “Of course it’s the same!”

The big man scratched his bristly head and screwed his little eyes up in confusion. He returned to his seat and looked at the wand again. With a resigned shrug, he put the wand down on the chest and when Jack looked over a few minutes later, the man was snoring with his forehead resting on his arms. The wand was next to his elbow.

Jack knew that if another member of the gang looked properly at the big man’s wand, the game would be up. The interruption of magic had worked in Jack’s favour so far, but he understood that this was unlikely to be a permanent state of affairs. He started to worm his way towards the sleeping man but the movement caught the eye of the fair man and Jack withdrew, looking as innocent as he knew how.

Jack had a great deal of faith in his luck, but even he could hardly believe it when the big man gave a great snort and shifted, his arm sliding across the box and knocking the makeshift wand off, to land quietly on a dirty rag barely three feet away from Jack. Ignoring his sore fingers, Jack twisted some short lengths of wire together to make a longer piece. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he bent the end into a hook and wiggled it along the floor keeping a wary eye on the fair man who was wrapped up in his writing, his pen scraping steadily on the paper.

The hook caught the rag that lay under the fake wand and in a second, jack had pulled it, with the wand, into his hand. Using his teeth and his rusty nail, he managed to reduce the soft, splintery wood to shreds which were incorporated invisibly into the general debris that littered the floor.

.

The day dragged into evening, and as the daylight diminished, the room was illuminated with the strange, orange, bulbless light Jack had noticed before. He thought the alien was somehow responsible for it. It made everything look sickly and dirty and cast deep shadows at the edges of the room.

Jack heard some sharp, hissed voices and looked around to see where they were coming from.

The thin, dark man who the others called Tony, was speaking to the poet. Jack strained to hear the conversation.

The poet’s voice was a loud, uneasy whisper. “More? What d’you mean, more? You had some yesterday! There should have been enough for six weeks at least, and now it’s nearly finished! There’ll be no more when it’s gone!”

The tall man in glasses looked over, his face nervous, and the breathless man watched, expressionless. The big man did not stir from his slumber.

The thin man put his face very near to the poet who looked terrified. Hurriedly, he tugged something from his pocket and thrust it at the other man. Jack could not see what it was, but thought it looked like dried leaves.

The thin man stuffed some of the stuff into his mouth and started to chew, and within seconds, the expression on his face changed. At first, it grew calmer and jack relaxed a bit, but after another minute, the man started to change. His head tipped back and Jack thought he might be asleep, but then he straightened up. His unnaturally black eyes were wide and staring, his mouth hung open with dark drool running down his chin and he had started to get a nosebleed but did not seem to notice or care.

Although the thin man did not look very strong, most of the gang seemed to be scared of him. Even Jack was reluctant to draw his attention, and Ilona whispered, “He sick man, Jack. Sick in head. He not know what is real.”

The man stared in the direction of the prisoners and Jack slid behind some boxes; but he was not interested in Jack. He staggered towards them, and Ilona jumped up and tried to back away, but she was still tied to Jack and could not move far. The other members of the gang watched in dismay but no one seemed prepared to intervene.

The man fell to his knees before Ilona and and grabbed her around the legs, crying, “Bella! Bella! Why did you choose him over me? We could have taken the world, you and I!” He pulled himself up to stand before her and took a strand of fair hair between his fingers. “What have you done to your beautiful hair, Bella?”

Ilona stood stock still, paralysed with fear and revulsion.

The breathless man got stiffly to his feet, holding on to a brick pillar for support. Air wheezed in his chest. “Tony.” He stepped over and turned the dark man’s face to his. “Tony,” said the man again, gently. “Wanting them back will not give them life. They are dead. Yours and mine. Both dead.”

The dark man stared blankly. “No,” he wept. “Not dead, not my Bella!” He stumbled into the shadows at the far end of the room.

The breathless man sank to the floor again, leaning on a wall near to Jack and Ilona.

Jack’s natural inquisitiveness, intensified by extreme boredom, was uncontrollable, and he tapped the man on the shoulder. “’E don’t look very strong, but they’re all scared of ‘im ain’t they?”

The breathless man regarded him. “And you are not scared of him?”

Jack was not about to make any such admission, but the breathless man did not need an answer. “There is none so dangerous as a man with nothing to lose,” he said. “Do you understand, boy?”

Jack thought about it. “Maybe,” he said. “I’m Jack,” he added. “What’s your name?”

“Jack,” Ilona spoke softly, with a warning in her voice.

The breathless man inclined his head. “Madam,” he said. “Neither of you is in danger from me. Let the boy ask his questions.” He turned to Jack again. “I am called Myklos.”

“I’m Jack. Pleasedtomeetyou.” On impulse, Jack held his hand out. The man looked at it for a moment then gave a twisted smile and took it.

“I glad to make your acquaintance, too, Jack.”

“What are you goin’ to do with us?” said Jack.

“I? I not do anything with you. The others? I not sure.” Myklos shook his head. “But you not be permitted to remember this, you know,” he said. “They will _obliviate_ you. They have to.”

“Ob‒ what?” asked Jack.

“They take away your memory of what has happen here.”

Jack could not have explained why the prospect of that frightened him more than anything else had in the last two days.

Ilona, who had been listening to the conversation, started to cry again. “They mess with our minds? No! that is not right!”

“No,” said Myklos. “Is not right. But is what they will do.”

“If you don’t like it,” said Jack, “why are you here?”

“I was ‒ in prison. Now, I nowhere else to go. And they promise to help me if I help them.”

“Ooh, prison!” said Jack, impressed, “But I bet you was innocent.”

The man’s lips curved into something that was not quite a sneer. “Innocent? Never that. I did everything they accuse me of, and much they did not. In all my life I did only one unselfish thing.”

“What was that, then?” asked Jack, curious.

Myklos did not answer, though Jack was sure he had heard. The man’s chin rested on his chest, his eyes were closed and tears glistened in the corners.

Jack was ill-equipped to deal with this, and silently, but without enthusiasm, returned to his artistic endeavours.

 

* * *

 

 


	15. That I May See and Tell

 

** Chapter Fifteen: That I May See and Tell **

****

“Harry Potter! I was wondering if you’d find your way up here.”

Aberforth Dumbledore moved more slowly than he had eleven years before. He had developed a stoop and his hands trembled slightly, but the blue eyes, so very like his brother’s, were still sharp and percipient.

“And a good day to you, too, Aberforth,” said Harry. “How is life treating you?”

Aberforth snorted. “Life? A slippery slope on the way to death’s all it is.”

Harry looked at one of the goats, which seemed to have something trailing from its backside – although it appeared quite nonchalant about this undignified state of affairs. Aberforth followed his gaze and chuckled. “Morag had one of Rosmerta’s stockings off her washing line, yesterday.” he said. “It’ll work its way out.” He tapped the side of his nose, conspiratorially. “But keep it to yourself, eh?” Harry tore his gaze away.

Can we have a chat, Aberforth?” asked Harry. “Somewhere more private?”

“If you must. Come inside.”

Since Harry had last been there, Aberforth had moved into a downstairs room at the back of the Hog’s Head. The room had a bare stone floor with a worn rug in the middle, and the furniture was dark and looked very old. The largest chair was carved with a complex design of plants and trees and half-hidden animals, with arms formed into the shape of claws. Harry fancied he saw a bearded face peering out from within the intricate pattern, but when he looked again, he could no longer see it.

A beautiful but faded tapestry reminiscent of the ones inside Hogwarts hung on one of the whitewashed walls, and a bright fire was burning in the hearth of the deep inglenook fireplace. Above a great stone mantel, Ariana’s portrait smiled as serenely as ever. Harry smiled back at her and took a stool at the scrubbed table. Aberforth summoned a pewter mug, misted on the outside with condensation, and presented it to Harry.

Harry took a mouthful of cold, fresh milk, tasting the distinctive tang of goat. Aberforth seated himself on the carved chair and waited for Harry to speak.

“You’ll have heard about what’s been happening?” said Harry.

“Not the sort of thing you can keep quiet, is it?” said Aberforth. “I’ll be expecting a mass exodus up here if it goes on much longer. Prices’ll have to go up of course.”

“Of course,” agreed Harry. “But this is a deliberate act. I believe it’s connected to a group who call themselves the ‘ _Confederacy Liberatum’_. You keep your ear to the ground ‒”

Aberforth raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know what gives you that impression. You shouldn’t listen to rumours.”

Harry couldn’t help laughing. “Don’t deny it, I know you do! Have you got any ideas?”

“As it happens, I might have,” said Aberforth, stroking his straggly beard with a bony finger. “There were a couple of characters in here about a month ago. They were going to see Hagrid when they left. I think you should pay him a visit.”

“I will do,” said Harry. “I want to see Professor Longbottom first, though. Is the passage from here still open?”

Aberforth glowered. “Do you think it was there for your convenience, Harry? To make life easier when you can’t be bothered to use the front door like civilised folk? No. It existed only as long as it was needed. It closed after the final battle, and I hope it never opens again.” He contradicted his grumpy tone by winking. “You should still be able to use the passage from Honeydukes though. Got your cloak?”

.

.

.

Harry found Neville leaving one of the greenhouses.

“Professor Longbottom!”

“Head Auror Potter, I believe?” The two men shook hands, grinning at each other.

“Head Auror Potter is rather out of his depth at the moment, Professor Longbottom, and wants some help,” said Harry. “Everywhere south of Carlisle has had magic – frozen; I don’t know how else to describe it. We can’t do – or undo – anything.”

They began to walk back to the castle.

“I had heard,” said Neville. “Rumours abound. Do you know why it has happened? More importantly, will it come back?”

“Merlin, I hope so! But there’s something else going on. Two Muggles disappeared a couple of days ago, apparently kidnapped – by wizards.”

“No, Harry!” Pulling off his outdoor robe, Neville opened the door to his apartment and waved Harry through, following him in and kicking off his boots. He hung his robe on a hook by the door. “Can I get you a drink? I’ve an excellent cordial made with Good-King-Henry and pennyroyal. Would you like to try some?”

The goat’s milk in Harry’s stomach rebelled at the prospect. “No thanks Nev, not just now.”

“So, tell me more, Harry. How do you tackle something like this – how do you stop the Muggles getting suspicious?”

“I’ve got one of our Muggle liaison officers on containment,” said Harry. “Do you remember Sally-Anne Perks, Nev?”

Neville looked pensive for a moment, and a little sad. Absent-mindedly he rubbed the leaf of a pot plant at his side and sniffed at it. “Why, yes. Yes, I do. She was here for a time during the battle, you know.”

Harry brushed some fragments of vegetation from a chair and sat down. “I didn’t know that! A lot of people came to help us.”

“I was very sweet on her once,” Neville added.

Were you, Nev? I had no idea!”

“It was a long time ago, Harry.”

Harry nodded. “It was. A lot has happened since. Now then, Nev, I don’t suppose you have any recollection of seeing any strangers – two men – up here a month or so ago?”

Neville bit his lip. “I don’t know about strangers, exactly. We did have some visitors. One of them was a bloke named Marcus Lovegood, and he was with someone I didn’t know. Marcus has a sister in the school, and I think he was visiting her.”

“Lovegood! Any relation to Luna?”

A cousin, I believe. I haven’t been in touch with Luna for ages. She’s in South America with Xenophilius, I understand. Collecting Bolivian Tree Sprockle venom.”

“Good grief,” muttered Harry.

“I didn’t pay much attention to them and it went clear out of my mind when I discovered the theft from the greenhouses. I sent a report down to you. Didn’t you see it?”

“Oh, bloody hell! Sorry, Nev. I didn’t think it looked very important.”

Neville looked hurt. “It might not have looked important to you, Harry, but it was very upsetting.”

“You’re right, Nev, I should have acted sooner. Why don’t you tell me about it now? What was stolen?”

Neville looked anxious. “Keep it to yourself, Harry, but several plants were taken. Just pulled out of the pots! Vandals! You don’t think Marcus and his friend had something to do with it, do you? I suppose it is a bit of a coincidence, now I come to think about it!”

“I don’t know, Nev. Was it a particular sort of plant that was taken, then?”

“Oh yes, Harry it was! It was called _Solanum Atropurpureum.”_

Harry must have looked blank.

“It’s a member of the nightshade family,” said Neville. “It’s used in the production of a powerful sedative they call _Solatium_.”

“Malevolence!” exclaimed Harry.

“I believe that is what it’s commonly called, yes. But it’s terribly dangerous! Chewing the unprocessed leaves can have a similar effect to _Solatium_ , but the side effects are horrendous ‒ and invariably fatal within a few weeks. Hallucinations, you know. Delusions, paranoia, skin rashes, haemorrhaging, organ failure, you name it.”

Harry could not for the life of him see what the theft of Neville’s plants had to do with everything else, but if he was sure of anything, he was sure that it was connected. Something else occurred to him. “If Xenophilius is away, who’s editing the _Quibbler_?”

“Xeno’s brother Poliphilius,” said Neville. “Marcus’s father, in fact. I believe Marcus writes for it too. Fancies himself as a poet, I understand.”

“Ah.” Harry rubbed his forehead. “Do you know Megan Fenwick, Nev? She’s a first year. I’d like to see her. Unofficially.”

“I do. Shall I send someone to find her?”

Harry nodded. “Please.”

Neville opened the door of his apartment and looked out into the corridor.  “You, lad!” he called, “Parry, isn’t it? Gryffindor? Five house points if you find Megan Fenwick for me and ask her to come here as soon as possible. She’s a first year. Ravenclaw.”

He came back into the room and closed the door behind him looking slightly uncomfortable. “What do you want with her? Has she said something to someone?”

“She told her mother you’ve got a computer. How do you get it to work here?”

Neville flushed. “This is the twenty-first century, Harry!” He went over to a desk and pulled away a cloth revealing a laptop underneath. He unplugged something from the side and showed it to Harry, who recognised the twisted silver coil as very similar to the one Kingsley had shown him in the Ministry.

“An _implecto_ ,” said Neville. “It channels wizard energy – you know, the _Leode Wyrcan_.”

“I do now,” agreed Harry, ruefully.

“Well, it uses the energy to power the computer instead of interfering with the signal. You won’t say anything to Minerva though, will you?” Neville plugged the _implecto_ back in.

“What do you take me for, Nev? Of course I won’t!” said Harry. “I would like to know how Megan found out, though.”

Neville hesitated. “I. . . I don’t know, Harry. She came to see me after Herbology the day before yesterday, and said, _‘Professor Longbottom, I know you have a computer. If you let me use it to send my mum an email, I won’t tell Professor McGonagall.’_ ”

“Hm.” If what Harry thought was the case, that young lady needed a talking-to. He was curious. “What’s she like, Nev?”

“She’s. . . unusual. Especially for a first year. Not unpopular, exactly. She can be a bit of a clown sometimes. Mostly she’s self-contained I would say. A bit reserved. The other students tend to keep her at a respectful distance. But they do go to her when they lose things. Not only the kids, in fact.” He coughed self-consciously.

There was a knock at the door. “This will probably be her now.”

“Just give me a moment,” said Harry. “I don’t want her to know I’m here just yet.” He pulled his invisibility cloak from his pocket and the air ran like water as he shook it out.

Neville looked doubtful. “Harry, I don’t know – Oh, never mind.”

Harry stepped behind a couch and pulled the cloak over his head. He owed Julia a great deal and did not want to believe she was deceiving Sirius, but he needed to be sure. Neville answered the door.

A slim, solemn, dark-haired girl came into the room. “You wanted to see me, Professor Longbottom?” She looked directly at Harry. He tensed. It appeared almost as if she could see him, but that was impossible!

“Why are you trying to hide?” she demanded.

Harry stood stock-still and held his breath. He could not believe what seemed to be happening.

The girl put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I can see you, you know. You’re just being silly!”

Harry glanced at Neville who was unsuccessfully trying to supress his amusement. Harry had not felt so stupid for years. Defeated, he pulled the cloak off.

“That’s better,” she said with approval. “I can see you properly now. Who are you, and why were you hiding?”

He could not keep a note of acerbity from his voice. “You don’t already know everything, then?”

She looked surprised. “Of course not! Nobody knows everything!”

Harry looked at Neville. “Sorry, Nev, I really need to speak to Megan alone. Do you mind?”

Neville looked disappointed but shrugged. “Sure thing, Harry. I forgot to check on the mandrakes for tomorrow’s lesson. I’ll be in the greenhouses if you need me again.”

Neville pulled his boots and thick robe back on, and left the room.

Harry studied the girl in front of him. She looked like a very average twelve year old, if there is such a thing. “Megan, I’m Harry Potter.”

“Oh yes, you’re famous! You’re-” she broke off.

“I’m Sirius’s godson.” She did not respond. “I know Sirius is still alive. And I know he’s your dad.”

Megan’s smile lit her face like a sunbeam and Harry’s breath caught with the familiarity and relief of it. Any doubts about her parentage washed away in that instant.

“Mum and Dad don’t like me to tell anyone,” she said. “Is that Dad’s jacket? Is he all right?”

“Erm, yes, he’s fine. Well, I think so. You sent your mum an email about your friend, Jack.” Megan waited for more. Harry sighed. She was not going to make this easy for him. “Would you like to tell me how you knew he was in trouble?”

“Oh!” her face cleared. “Well, he needed me to find him. He’s my friend. Jack can do magic, too. He can come here when he’s eleven.”

Harry was taken aback by that piece of information, but felt the conversation was already in danger of moving off track. “How did you know Jack had been kidnapped?”

Megan’s solemn face went pale. “Kidnapped! I didn’t! I didn’t know that! I just knew he was lost, and he wanted me to find him. I told him, you see. I told him I could find him if he got lost. I promised. I promised!” she repeated, her distress clear.

“Megan, you need to tell me how you knew. How did Jack tell you he was lost?”

She looked surprised. “Well, in my head. He’s in a place with a sort of tower. He showed me. But I didn’t know how to write it in the email.”

“Megan,” Harry squatted down before her and took her hands in his. “Do you think you could show me?”

The girl looked into his eyes and he realised with a shock that her grey eyes were exactly like Sirius’s. He felt a twitching in his mind and allowed her some limited access.

“Yes,” she said. “I can.”

“Go on, then,” said Harry. “Do it now, I’m ready.”

Harry’s mind flooded with the perceptions of a twelve year old girl; feelings familiar enough that he recognised that the thoughts of a twelve-year-old girl were not so very different to those of a twelve-year-old boy. Megan did not have the ability to control what she showed him and the vision was mixed up with images of Julia and Albie, Sirius, Isaac, and the boy with freckles and messy red hair he had seen on the picture Dudley had showed him. Then the image of a building began to predominate. Dark and forbidding, he was looking up at a great chimney stretching away into the sky. The sun was setting behind it, and the buildings at the base were partly in ruins. Stunted weeds grew among the paving stones, and bare brambles twisted round hunks of rusty machinery. Then the image faded.

“I can’t do any more,” she said. “That’s what Jack showed me. Did you see the tower?”

“I did,” he said. “It’s not a tower really, it’s a chimney. A very old one. Maybe we can find it now, Megan. Thank you for your help. If Jack shows you anything else, will you tell your mum again, please?”

She nodded and was about to speak, but was interrupted by a smart rap at the door. The visitor entered without waiting for a reply. Megan’s face fell in horror and Harry’s heart plummeted.

“Miss Fenwick and . . . Head Auror Potter! How delightful to see you again! You should have let us know you were going to visit. May I enquire what the two of you are doing in Professor Longbottom’s apartment?” The keen glance swept around the room and the voice fell to something approaching a hiss. “What,” Professor McGonagall uttered with all the warmth of a glacier, pointing at Neville’s computer with a trembling finger “is _that_?”

Megan visibly pulled herself together, and Harry admired her fortitude. He could see something of Julia in her determined little jaw. “It’s a computer, headmistress.”

Professor McGonagall had developed a twitch in her cheek.

“You are in Ravenclaw house if I am not mistaken?” Megan gave a mute nod. “I daresay I shall need to discuss this matter with Professor Longbottom in due course.”

Harry winced in sympathy.

“But in the meantime, ten points from Ravenclaw, and detention in my office after lessons tomorrow. And think yourself fortunate that I am feeling generous today. Now sit down.” She looked at Harry. “Both of you. And tell me what, precisely, is going on here.”

Harry sat down obediently, feeling like a first year again himself.

The headmistress waited for them both to be seated then perched herself, stiff backed, on a chair and put her wand neatly across her lap. “Feel free to explain. In your own time of course. Don’t let me rush you.” Her eyes narrowed. _“_ Do _not_ try your mind games on me, young lady.”

Megan looked small and vulnerable. “No, Headmistress. Sorry, Headmistress,” she whispered miserably.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” said Harry. “I should have arranged it with you properly, but I couldn’t get in touch until my magic returned, and by then I was nearly here, so . . . One of Megan’s friends is in some sort of trouble, and she seems to have some sort of insight into his whereabouts.”

“Ah,” Professor McGonagall nodded. “I begin to see, although I suspect you aren’t telling me quite everything. But it will do for now. Return to your common room, Miss Fenwick. I will expect you in my office tomorrow, at four-thirty prompt.”

“Yes Headmistress. Bye, Mr Potter.” A brief flash of Sirius’s irresistible smile crossed Megan’s face before she closed the door behind her.

Minerva slumped back in her chair. “What am I going to do with her, Harry? That talent she has – She’s no control over it you know! I daren’t wait until she is in her third year before she takes occlumency lessons.” She looked speculatively at him. “Am I right in thinking that you did finally manage to master occlumency and legilimency to a reasonable standard?”

“It was a fairly essential part of my Auror training,” Harry admitted.

“How would you feel about taking Miss Fenwick for some extra-curricular lessons this term if you have time?”

The question took him by surprise, but the idea delighted him, and although he tried to keep his expression impassive, he could not help smiling.

“Clearly you aren’t averse to the idea. Do you know her?”

“Er, no,” said Harry, “this is the first time we’ve met. I er, have met her mother, though.”

“Really? I understood her mother was a Muggle!”

“She is,” said Harry.

Minerva looked suspicious. “Hm, if you say so. She does remind me sometimes . . .but ‒ When this business  has been resolved, owl me and we will make the arrangements. As it happens, Harry, you are not the only visitor we have today. The other one though has a tendency to behave in a more conventional manner. I think she finds it yields results at least as efficiently as your – doubtless more exciting – cloak-and-dagger approach.”

“She?”

“You will find Ms Granger-Weasley in the library. I’m sure she will be pleased to see you.” Minerva stood up and dusted some twigs from her dark green robe. “Whatever is happening, Harry, I hope you can get to the bottom of it without delay. Now I must return to work.” 

.

.

A middle-aged wizard Harry did not recognise sat at a desk just inside the vast library doors. A small sign on it read ‘ _Azariah Pince: Chief Librarian’_.

“Ah, good afternoon,” Harry began.

The librarian looked up at him with sharp, dark eyes. “You are Harry Potter?”

Harry sighed. “Yes, I am.”

“One moment,” said the librarian holding up his index finger. He opened a drawer at the bottom of his desk, pulled out a card index and riffled through it. “Yes, I thought so,” he said. “ _A Treatise on the Habits of Poltergeists_. Due back on the first of September 1997. Eleven years, six months and fourteen days overdue.”

Harry was completely unnerved, and gaped, speechless, until the librarian chortled and winked at him.

“You will find Ms Granger-Weasley in the Biography section. There have been no changes to the rule on silence in the library.”

.

Hermione was seated at a table, studying a book that appeared to be handwritten in an untidy copperplate scrawl. She looked up at his approach. Her squeaked, “Harry!” was met by an irritated tutting from Azariah Pince’s desk, and Hermione grimaced and dropped her voice to a whisper. “What are you doing here? And wherever did you get that jacket?”

“Believe it or not,” he said, “I’m investigating a kidnapping.”

“A kidnapping, Harry! Really?”

Harry pointed at the book on the table. “This is the journal of Whatsisname Bagshot?”

“Aeneas Bagshot, yes. It’s terribly interesting, really it is! But, Harry, someone came to look at this very book less than a month ago. What do you think of that?”

Harry found he was not in the least surprised. “Who was it?”

“There were two men. One of them was called Marcus Lovegood. The other man wasn’t identified. But ‒ even more intriguing, Harry ‒ Azariah Pince said that the last person to request it before that was Severus Snape! Twelve years ago!”

 _“Snape?”_ Harry took his glasses off and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Merlin’s beard, this is getting more confusing, not less!”

“I know it is! I’ve pretty well finished here, Harry. Did you come on the train?”

He nodded.

“Me too. Let’s travel back together, and we can discuss it on the way.”

“Good idea,” said Harry. “But I want to see Hagrid first.

.

They walked through the school grounds, towards Hagrid’s hut at the edge of the forest.

“How are you and Ron managing without magic, Hermione?” asked Harry.

“My parents have been great,” she said. “They came over and picked us up as soon as I told them what had happened, so we’ve been staying there.”

“What, Ron too?” said Harry, surprised.

Hermione tutted. “Ron’s convinced my parents don’t like him. It’s not true. They just don’t have much to talk about. And for some reason, he’s frightened of them. He hasn’t quite grasped that Muggles are people, too. You’d think he’d know better, wouldn’t you, with Arthur being his father?”

.

Hagrid’s little wooden hut near to the edge of the Forbidden Forest was unchanged and reassuringly familiar.

The huge man was outside tending to something in a large box. Harry did not get too close, feeling unable to express admiration for, or indeed, interest in anything that might be related to a flobberworm or blast-ended skrewt. Harry hailed him. “Hagrid!

Hagrid looked up. “’Harry! And Hermione!” The huge man’s face split into a delighted smile. The great bush of dark hair was sprinkled with grey, and there were more wrinkles around the dark eyes, but otherwise Hagrid had hardly changed since the day Harry had first met him, eighteen years earlier.

“How are you Hagrid? And how’s Olympe?”

“She’s grand, Harry, just grand! I’ll tell her you asked after her. Come on indoors and have a cuppa. Think I got some rock cakes somewhere.”

They followed Hagrid into his hut, and Fang greeted them with an affectionate sprinkling of slobber and dog hairs.

Hagrid presented them with mugs of strong, sweet tea and several rock cakes. Hermione politely declined the cake, but not wanting to hurt Hagrid’s feelings, Harry snapped one in half with some effort. He ate a part of it and clandestinely put the rest in his pocket.

“So wha’s been happenin’ down there, Harry? We’ve been hearin’ all manner o’ nonsense!”

“It isn’t nonsense, Hagrid,” said Harry. “Magic stopped working all over England, yesterday. That’s why I’m here. I was speaking to Aberforth earlier. He said that you had some visitors a few weeks ago?”

“Oh yeah.” Hagrid’s face clouded. “I did, Harry, but I wasn’ interested, really.”

“Interested in what, Hagrid?” asked Hermione.

“Oh, I thought y’ knew. They was recruitin’ fer that, y’know, _Confederacy Liberatum._  ‘Ang on Harry, I’ve got summat ‒”

Hagrid rummaged in a corner and emerged with a crumpled piece of paper. Harry took the stained page, which was rather damp along one edge. He recognised the now-familiar emblem at the top.

“I’m no’ much for readin’-like, as ye know, but Olympe said they’re jus’ a bunch o’ trouble-makers!”

“Can I keep this, Hagrid?” asked Harry.

“Course ye can, Harry!”

Hermione looked at her watch. “We need to be heading off soon. We’ve got to get the train.”

“Can I just say hello to Witherwings?” said Harry.                                                

“‘Course ye can,” beamed Hagrid. “’E’s just out back, as usual.”

.

Harry bowed before the hippogriff and waited while the beast bent its forelegs and bowed back. He rubbed the feathery neck, and the sharp beak nudged at his pocket.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t brought anything for you,” he said, but Witherwings was insistent, and Harry put his hand in his pocket. “Oh,” he said, “what’s this?” He pulled out the remnant of the rock cake and gave to the appreciative animal.

“Do you remember Sirius?” Harry asked. Witherwings fixed him with a hard gaze. Harry was never sure how much the beast understood. “Well,” he said, “he’d like to see you again. I think I might bring him up for a visit, soon.”

 

 


	16. Once Found Out and solved

 

** Chapter Sixteen: Once Found Out and Solved **

 

Waverley station was busy with Sunday afternoon southward-bound commuters. Harry and Hermione bypassed the crowd by apparating into the back of a carriage as the incoming passengers were disembarking, but before the new passengers had begun to board. One or two people seemed surprised and a little resentful to find them already there, but Hermione looked ingenuous and confident, and no one challenged them.

She arranged a scarf over her wand, and when the train started to move, she cast a _Muffliato_ charm. The busy noise from the rest of the carriage deadened.

“What’s this kidnapping then, Harry? It’s the first I’ve heard of it!”

“I should hope so. But I’m sure that somehow it’s connected with the theft from the Ministry,” said Harry. “It appears that two Muggles – a ten-year-old boy and a young woman ‒ were kidnapped by wizards at the same time an old woman in a Muggle nursing home died in unusual circumstances. A woman who, as it happens, turns out to have been Eileen Prince.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “Goodness! I assumed she had died years ago! Well, we all did, didn’t we?” She sat back, looking thoughtful.

“Before we go any further, Harry, I must tell you about Aeneas Bagshot’s journal. I don’t know how it fits in with everything else, but I made notes.” She took a handful of papers from her bag and pulled down the plastic shelf on the back of the seat in front of her, putting the papers on top of it. “Listen to this.” She squinted at her notes.

“In the year 1900, Aeneas Bagshot, the youngest son of Bathilda’s brother, was twenty years old. He had met Gellert Grindelwald when he was a boy and been fascinated by what he called ‘ _Gellert’s glamour and mystery_.’ After Gellert had ended his association with Dumbledore, Aeneas travelled abroad and joined him in Constantinople where he was studying the secrets of the dervishes.   
Aeneas found that Gellert had become obsessed with locating an artefact he called the ‘Eversio machine’, which he had first learned of by reading Aubrey’s notebook in the Ministry. He believed that the Greek island of Antikythera was all that remained of the land said to have been destroyed by the machines. The two men travelled to Greece, and Gellert used magic – probably an _Imperius_ Curse – to induce the local sponge divers to search for the shipwreck. After some weeks of searching, they found it and began to recover various objects from the sea bed. But Aeneas was growing increasingly uneasy about Gellert’s ambitions and returned to Godric’s Hollow, where he went to Albus Dumbledore for help.

Dumbledore allowed snippets of information about the discovery to leak into the Muggle archaeological world. He took on the guise of a learned antiquarian and travelled to the site of the shipwreck where he was able to retrieve the two machines. He found one in a fragmentary condition, but the other seemingly intact. He took the complete machine away and deposited it in the Department of Mysteries where he thought it would be safe. And it probably would have been, if Aeneas hadn’t told his Aunt Bathilda about it and described Aubrey’s notes in his journal.”

Hermione looked up from her notes. “That’s the gist of it. And now someone has stolen the Antikythera – or perhaps we should call it the Eversio machine. So,” she mused, “who knew what it was and what it could do?”

“I don’t think anyone knew for sure,” said Harry. “But the only person who seems to have had any idea was Hector’s old apprentice, Erasmus.”

“Erasmus who?” asked Hermione.

Harry racked his brain. “Er, I think it might be Pringle.”

“Oh! I don’t recognise the name.  Why did he stop working for Hector, then?”

“Well, if it’s the same one mentioned in the _Prophet,_ apparently he was a Death Eater. Recently released from prison.”

“That would explain why he waited till now. I can’t understand why I don’t recognise the name though! I thought I knew all the Death Eaters in Azkaban.” She paused. “Harry, are you absolutely sure Erasmus’s surname is Pringle?”

“Er, not really,” Harry confessed. “There was porridge on the paper.”

Hermione’s forehead creased in bafflement. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Porridge,” Harry explained. “The paper landed in a bowl of porridge and got smudged.”

Hermione leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.” Prince,” she said without opening them. “Not Pringle, Prince.” She opened her eyes again. “You are an idiot, Harry.”

Harry did not offer any defence. “D’you think he was related to Eileen Prince then?”

“He must have been, and that would make him related to‒”

“Severus Snape!” they finished together.

“So, Harry, do you think Erasmus told Snape about the machine? And where does his mother fit into this?”

Harry looked at Hermione, blankly. “I don’t know, H. There has to be a connection but I can’t imagine what.” He turned his gaze to the window and idly drew circles in the condensation with his finger, then started to dot little blobs around one of the circles until it looked like a cog.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Harry slapped his forehead. “Eileen’s necklace!”

“Eileen’s necklace? What necklace?”

Harry rubbed his temple. “The staff at the care home noticed that Eileen’s necklace was missing. They said it didn’t appear to be valuable. But Isaac said Severus had given it to her for safekeeping.

“Who’s Isaac, Harry?”

“Isaac Prewett,” Harry answered. “A squib. He was Eileen’s solicitor – or so he says – and was named as her next of kin. According to him, it’s not unusual for witches or wizards to retire into the Muggle world. Though I can’t imagine why they would want to!”

“I can,” said Hermione. “We don’t provide much in the way of support for the elderly if they don’t have families, do we? But mainly it’s Muggle-born wizards who move back into the Muggle world. It’s difficult to straddle the two worlds, Harry, and in the end, you know, blood is thicker than water – as they say.”

“I hadn’t looked at it that way,” he admitted.

Suddenly, Hermione was excited. “Harry, remember! Azariah Pince said the last person to look at the journal before Marcus Lovegood and his friend, was Professor Snape! Maybe Snape knew what Erasmus was working on. He could have read the bit in _The_ _History of Magic,_ just as we did, and that would have led him to the journal at Hogwarts! Then I bet he found Aubrey’s book in the archives and discovered something – a way to sabotage the machine, I suppose? But why would he do that?”

“Voldemort,” said Harry with certainty. “If the machine really has the potential to cause the destruction described in Aubrey’s book, and Voldemort had discovered it, well ‒ imagine! But Erasmus was a Death Eater. That’s why he left the Ministry. I wonder why he didn’t tell Voldemort about it?”

“I don’t think Erasmus was ever part of Voldemort’s inner circle,” said Hermione. “And I don’t think Erasmus knew about Aubrey’s book then, either. Unless he had read Aeneas’s journal in Hogwarts he couldn’t have done, and I don’t think he had the opportunity. He probably didn’t really know what it could do. Snape probably recognised the potential of the machine before Erasmus did!”

“Okay.” Harry wiped the circles off the misty window with the sleeve of Sirius’s jacket. “So, Snape removed a part from the machine to make it useless, and gave it to his mother for safekeeping ‒ because he had let everyone believe she was dead!”

“I think you’re right, Harry. But someone must have known she wasn’t dead, and known she had this ‒ thing – whatever it is. I wonder how they knew where she was?”

“No idea. But I suppose Erasmus must have decided to steal the machine when he was released. I wonder why?”  Harry took the paper he had taken from Hagrid out of his pocket and flattened it on the back of the seat in front of him. _‘Confederacy Liberatum needs YOU!’_ it read _. ‘Are you a victim of discrimination? Do you believe in equality, justice and emancipation? Join us now ‒ fight for your rights! Militares pro Justicia! (Contact ‘Amo’ via The Quibbler’s letters page.)_

He tapped it. “Where do you think this fits in, then?”

“Something like this was circulating around Azkaban prison a few months ago,” said Hermione. “They used sea birds to drop them into the prison, remember?”

Harry pondered. “Maybe Erasmus was nursing a grievance and saw a way to get his own back? Marcus Lovegood is something to do with this organisation, and he was one of the men who looked at the memoir in Hogwarts, so it follows that this business is linked with _Confederacy Liberatum_ in some way.”

Hermione nodded. “Sound reasoning. Marcus was at the library in Hogwarts with someone else. I’ll bet that was Erasmus! That will be how they learnt about the book in the Ministry.”

“I have to wonder if those two had something to do with the theft of some plants from the Hogwarts greenhouses too,” said Harry. “It happened at the same time. It can’t be a coincidence.”  

“Theft from the greenhouses at Hogwarts? This is something else you haven’t told me, is it?”

“Don’t be daft, H. I did get a report a few weeks ago, but I, well –“

Hermione tutted. “You put it to one side and forgot about it. I know.”

“It didn’t look important!” Harry protested.

“Oh well, that’s all right then,” said Hermione, drily. “So what sort of plant was it?”

Harry tried to recall. “Ah some sort of nightshade. Purple something.”

“ _Purple something?_ Oh, Harry!”

“It’s the main ingredient in that potion they use in Azkaban. _Solatium_ – Malevolence!”

Hermione held her hand up in warning. “Shush a minute.” She flicked her wand under her coat and ended the _Muffliato_ charm as the refreshment trolley paused by their seat. Harry bought two cups of coffee and saw Hermione smirking as he paid for them. “We’ll make a Muggle of you yet, Harry,” she murmured, and flicked her wand, surrounding them once again with a blanket of quiet.

Harry took a sip of scalding coffee through the hole in the plastic lid. “Kingsley thought that Myklos Whassname had something to do with getting past the wards at the Ministry. So it’s my guess that Erasmus wanted the machine and Aubrey’s book, but the opportunity to get it didn’t arise until Myklos was released from Azkaban.”

“Is that Myklos Zmyslony?” asked Hermione. She drew a breath and Harry thought she was about to say something else but changed her mind and instead said, “I met him in Azkaban a year or so ago. An interesting man. He was already sick by then but still as hard as nails. A clever man, but very sad. I quite liked him. I wonder what they offered him in return?” She tapped her pile of notes with a pensive finger. “So after his release, they broke into the Ministry and took the machine. Nothing ever moves in the Time Room, so Erasmus would have known precisely where it was. They found Aubrey’s book too, but judging by the mess they made, they didn’t know exactly where to find that.   
Then they must have discovered the machine wouldn’t work. One of them must have known – or worked out – that Snape had taken something from the machine and given it to his mother. They found out where she was, and then they killed her to get the thing – which she wore as a necklace. It seems rather extreme, doesn’t it? Why kill her? And why kidnap two Muggles?”

“Ilona worked at the old folks’ home,” said Harry. “She probably saw something. But why would they abduct Jack, too?”

“Maybe,” said Hermione, slowly, “. . . maybe Ilona was struggling and they didn’t dare apparate too far for fear of splinching. And maybe Jack disturbed them, so they took him too?”

“It’s a logical theory,” said Harry. “So, Marcus Lovegood, Erasmus Prince and Myklos Zmyslony. That’s three. There have to be more. Two of those have been in prison for years and one of them is sick and dying. I can’t see Marcus Lovegood running the show on his own.”

I agree,” said Hermione, “but those are all we know of at the moment.”

Harry had a flash of comprehension. “And Dolohov! That’s not a coincidence either! Si ‒ someone saw him near a crime scene. An elderly Muggle was attacked but no-one knows why.  Dolohov is something to do with it too, I’m sure!”

“Another Muggle was attacked?” Hermione frowned. “So how is that connected?”

“I don’t know what the connection is, H, except it was in the nearest town to the nursing home where Eileen died. But Andromeda told me an interesting thing last night. She said Dolohov had some property in the Midlands that was once used as a Death Eater hideout.”

“Really?” said Hermione. “Do you think that is why they wanted him, then – for a base? But what did they offer him in return? He’s hardly likely to be interested in social justice! Dolohov was a Death Eater, of course, so he and Erasmus must have known each other. So that’s four. I still think there must be someone else, though. And what purpose did they have in mind for the machine, anyway? Some sort of attack? Because so far, all they’ve done is stopped magic from working.”

“Isn’t that bad enough?” said Harry.

“It’s enough to get everyone’s attention, certainly. But Gellert Grindelwald thought it was a powerful weapon. Remember what Aubrey’s notebook said about it!”

“But, H, you said yourself that was nonsense!”

“I know I did, but still . . .” Hermione looked anxious. “I don’t think we have seen what it can really do yet.”

Harry shivered. “Oh Merlin! We’ve got to get the thing back!”

“Yes we have,” said Hermione, decisively. “But this still doesn’t get us any nearer to knowing where they are, does it?”

Harry rested his head back against the seat and absently contemplated the luggage rack above his head. “I might have something,” he said. “It’s so vague I don’t know what to do with the information I have. I know what the place looks like – partly – but I don’t know how to find it.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and scrutinised him. “How can you know that, Harry?”

Harry considered what he could tell Hermione without breaking Sirius’s confidence. Eventually, he shook his head. “I can’t tell you H. Not just yet. I’m sorry. I made a promise.”

Hermione’s jaw tightened with disapproval. “I hope you know what you’re doing. Keeping secrets is dangerous.”

“It’s not my secret,” said Harry. “I wish I could tell you. But I can’t. Not just yet.”

As the train approached Newcastle, a familiar wave of weakness swept over Harry, and this time he recognised the sensation as the magic energy drained from him. Hermione’s eyes were half-closed and she gave a huge yawn.

Harry looked out of the smeared carriage window at the passing landscape fading into dusk and watched a trail of rainwater meander across the glass, the movement of the train making its path random and uneven. He tried to make the pieces of the puzzle fit together, tried to make sense of it all, until he fell into a doze, not becoming fully alert until Hermione nudged him awake as the train pulled into Peterborough station where Andromeda was already waiting for him in her smart little car.

.

He had dozed off again on the drive back and when Andromeda drew to a stop at home, his mind felt dull and unfocused. All he wanted to do was sit by the fire and close his eyes. He followed Andromeda into the house and dragged off his boots in the porch. Ginny came out and greeted him with a kiss. He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. “Let me slip into something more comfortable,” he whispered, and Ginny giggled.  He shrugged off the heavy flying jacket and put on his familiar indoor robes.

Julia was rattling pans in the kitchen, and delicious smells were wafting through the house. Harry’s stomach clenched and rumbled loudly, reminding him that he had not eaten for several hours.

“So, was it a successful day, Harry?” asked Ginny. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Ah,” Harry felt slightly ratty and not much like talking. He fell into an armchair and put his feet as close to the fire as he dared. “Yes, but let’s not talk about it now. Tell me what you’ve been doing today.”

“We’ve had a nice time, Harry! Doing Muggle things. We walked the dogs, and took the children to the park in the morning. Then we went to the pub for lunch and Julia took us shopping in a Super-Market. Then we came home and Teddy fell out of a tree, and Julia took James and Albus pond-dipping. Normal stuff for Muggles, apparently.”

“And anyway, Daddy,” James’s piercing voice interrupted from the corner. “Albus fell in the pond!”

“What!” Harry sat up straight, wide-awake again, his blood running cold. A dreadful vision of little Albus, his innocent body cold and still and lifeless lodged itself in his mind’s eye. “Julia let Albus fall in the pond! What were you thinking to let her do that?” he looked at Ginny accusingly.

“He was fine, Harry,” said Andromeda. “It was only six inches deep and he thought it was hilarious and wanted to do it again!”

“That’s not the point! Tiredness and hunger were making him bad tempered and he knew he was being unreasonable. “We don’t know anything about her! She’s only Sirius’s girlfriend!”

He heard a soft noise behind him. Not as loud as a gasp, nor as sharp as a sob, but something perhaps in-between. Then he heard the back door close.

He looked at Andromeda and Ginny in dismay. Andromeda pursed her lips and shook her head, but Ginny looked shocked. “What has got into you Harry? That was a horrible thing to say!” She glared at him. “You can be a real prat sometimes.” She stood up. Come on, Andromeda, I suppose it’s up to us to finish the dinner now. And you –” she looked at Harry, “– had better go and apologise to Julia.”

..

Harry changed into his heavy Auror’s robes, pulled his boots back on, and ventured out into the chilly evening. After a few minutes of wandering about the garden in the dark, he found Julia with Albie down by the oak tree where she had waited when he had first met Sirius again. Only five short days ago, he realised. Somewhere behind the clouds lurked the moon and there was just enough light to see. Julia watched as he approached and he stopped in front of her. Tentatively, he touched her shoulder, half-expecting her to slap his hand away. Instead, she patted his hand and he felt even worse.

“Do you have family, Julia? Apart from Megan – and Sirius of course.”

“No.” Her voice was quiet. “I had a brother, once. He was a wizard. He died. A long time ago.”

Things fell into place for Harry, He understood why Julia was so familiar with the wizarding world and so confident in dealing with it, and he also felt her loneliness.

“I have lots of friends, Harry,” she said. “Good ones.”

“I – Julia, I overreacted. My children – my family. I worry about them. All the time.”

Without warning, Harry started to cry. Painful, choking, embarrassing sobs. “Oh bloody hell, I’m sorry! I’m . . . I’m so afraid of losing them!” The darkness only partly hid his humiliation; then he felt Julia’s arms around him, strong and comforting.

“Sh, sh. I understand, Harry. I do. You’ve lost so much. But your children aren’t made of glass or sugar. They won’t shatter if they fall over, or melt if they get wet. One day you’ll have to let them go. And before that happens, you have to let them fall sometimes. You have to let them fail.”

He wiped his eyes. “The last thing I want to do is hurt your feelings, Julia.”

“It’s all right, Harry. I know I’m not part of your family. Not like Sirius is. And I’m not trying to take him away from you, you know! I couldn’t even if I wanted to. He thinks about you all the time. You and James. He always has.”

“Oh.” Unexpectedly, and with shame, Harry recognised the cause of his irrational resentment.

“Do you want to be?” he asked.

“What?”

He took her cold hand in his warm one. “If you want to be part of our rather chaotic family, you can. Auntie Jules?”

“Oh, Harry, that’s very kind. I think I’d like that. But . . . well. Would you still want me to be a part of your family if – if Sirius – left me?”

“What?” Harry tried to see Julia’s expression but it was too dark. She did not sound as if she was joking. “He’s not going to leave you, Julia! He’d be mad to do that.”

“Yes, I agree,” said Julia. She cleared her throat. “Silly of me.”

“And yes,” said Harry. “I would still want you to be part of our family. You and Megan.”

“Oh, Harry, did you –?”

“I met Megan today.”

 “And?”

“And you were right. I’ve only ever seen that smile on one other person.”

“Oh, yes,” Harry could hear the crack in Julia’s voice. “That smile. Sirius’s secret weapon.”

“Come back inside with me.” He put his arm round her shoulders. “Ginny and Andromeda will have served the dinner by now.”

.

.

Harry pulled his chair up to the table and stared at Teddy who was sporting a fine bruise on his cheek and a Muggle plaster on his forehead. “What in Merlin’s name happened to you?”

Julia put her hands up defensively. “Nothing to do with me, this time,” she said. “That boy could get into trouble in a padded cell.”

“I fell out of a tree,” said Teddy, proudly. “It was a big one too, wasn’t it, Grandma?”

“It certainly was, Edward,” said Andromeda, calmly.

Julia looked at Harry with a clear message in her eyes. Even Andromeda, who had lost her only daughter and would never have another grandchild, was able to let Teddy take risks. Allow him to be hurt.

Reflectively, he slathered butter on to a slice of freshly baked bread and let the women’s conversation wash around him for the rest of the meal.

Julia had made a huge steak and kidney pie. Half an hour later, she sighed, “Three hours to prepare, and twenty minutes to demolish. Was it really worth it?”

“It certainly was! That was delicious,” Harry said, helping himself to the last roast potato and using it to scoop a smear of gravy from the bottom of the empty pie dish.

He looked at Ginny, hopefully. “Do you think –?”

“No chance,” she stuck her tongue out at him. “I’m a sporting legend. Not a cook.”

“Ha! Modest too,” grinned Harry, then said, “Oh, Merlin, what’s that?” as Julia deposited another steaming dish on the table.

“Rhubarb crumble,” she said. “You’ve got an excellent little farm shop up the road. You should use it more often.”

.

 

After the dishes had been cleared away and washed, Andromeda’s firewhisky made another appearance at the fireside. Harry’s mood was much improved by a full stomach. In fact he thought he might have eaten slightly too much, and unfastened a couple of buttons.

He leaned back into the sofa and beckoned Ginny over to him. She sat down beside him and put her head on his shoulder. Under his hands, he could feel the strength of her Quidditch-toned muscles, the strong, steady beating of her heart. Even though he knew perfectly well that she was more than capable of taking care of herself, still, sometimes he wanted to wrap her up and hide her away somewhere safe. He pushed the illogical idea aside and glanced over his shoulder at Padfoot and the children. “Someone’s missing. Where is Teddy? Do I even want to know?”

“I believe he is feeding Albie with the bits of kidney he picked out of his dinner,” said Julia. “They have struck up some sort of rapport.”

Lily was holding on to Padfoot’s flank using him as a support while she toddled beside him. The great dog appeared to be perfectly happy with his role, and Julia watched them, looking tired and a little wistful. Harry felt a pang of sympathy for her.

Lily let go of Padfoot and took several faltering, unsupported steps before falling abruptly on to her padded bottom with a shout of glee, and using his tail to pull herself up again for another go.

James tugged at Harry’s robe, “Daddy, Daddy, look at Lily! Anyway, Mummy and Daddy, Lily can walk now!

.

.

The children were in bed – asleep, judging by the still and welcome silence. Andromeda, swathed in a thick red dressing gown peered round the door, wished them goodnight and made her way to the guest bedroom. Ginny looked at Harry suggestively under her lashes and he took her hand and kissed it. She stood, pulling him to his feet.

“I think we’ll go up now, Jules,” he said. “Will you be all right in here for another night?”

“Of course we will.” She started to take the cushions off the sofa and arrange them on the floor while Padfoot lay with his head on his paws, watching her. “Goodnight, Harry. Goodnight, Sporting Legend. See you in the morning.”

“Harry,” Ginny tugged at his hand.

“Go on,” said Julia, giving him a dirty wink. “I think you’re on a promise!”

 

* * *

 


	17. Birds in Ordely Array

** Chapter Seventeen: Birds in Orderly Array **

****

Julia had gone to sleep with her hands tangled the in shaggy fur of Padfoot’s chest and his head heavy on her belly, but before the dawn washed the sky outside in cold grey and pink, she mumbled and shifted in her makeshift bed on the floor. A long, cool body slid in beside her and folded her in a pair of strong arms.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re back,” she murmured sleepily.

“I am,” growled Sirius. “Thank Merlin.” His long fingers traced a line of warmth across her back, making her shiver with pleasure.

“I’ve missed you, Sirius.”

“Yes, I’ve missed me, too. Missed this. Just – hold me, Julia.”

“I already am doing,” she pointed out.

“Tighter.”

Her throat was tight. “I might not be able to let go.”

Sirius’s voice was quiet against her neck. “Then don’t.”

.

* * *

 

.

 

Jack was fairly sure it was still the middle of the night when he awoke from his uncomfortable slumber, hearing a flurry of activity and raised voices. Ilona twitched and moaned restlessly but did not wake.

He felt different. More energetic, somehow. Curious, he reached under his trouser leg to where the wand was tucked into his sock. With a little thrill of pleasure he felt the tingle in his fingers again. The magic had come back, he was sure of it.

Two of the gang seemed to be having an argument. Jack sat up and wriggled over to where he could see across the room. The dark man – the one Myklos had called Tony – was standing at the table, leaning threateningly over the man with glasses. “Give it to me!” he hissed.

“What? No! What do you want it for?” The other man had his arms clasped protectively around something on the table in front of him.

“Give. It. To me.” Tony was holding out his hand for something.

A few feet away from Jack, Myklos pulled himself up with a groan of pain. Stiffly, he made his way over to the other men. “Tony,” he said. “Let me take care of it.” Myklos held his hand out calmly. “Let me. I will keep it safe.” He nodded encouragingly.

The man with glasses seemed to think Myklos was the lesser of two evils and deposited a small object into his hand. With a grunt, Myklos dropped the thing into his pocket and sank to the floor again with a sigh.

The alien intervened. “Wizards should not argue! Wizards is fighting for the same cause!”

Pig-face began to stir into wakefulness and lifted his head sleepily as the alien hopped on to the table to address them. The big wizard yawned and looked about him, patting the top of the tea chest in a bemused way. He studied the surrounding floor, then tilted the chest and looked underneath it.

Myklos was watching him through narrowed eyes. “You have lost your wand again, no?”

The big wizard shook his head vigorously. “No, no! I just, er, tempor’ily, mislaid it.”

Myklos looked across at Jack and briefly met his gaze, but Jack looked away, and slid behind the boxes again.

The alien spoke up. “Wizard Lovegood is circulating our demand. The Ministry must be taking action to reform. If it is not, we is putting the next stage of our plan into place. Wizard Prince,” it beckoned the tall man in glasses. “Explain.”

Wizard Prince stood, keeping a protective hand on the machine before him. With the other hand he pushed his glasses up his nose. “The machine has absorbed much _leode wyrcan_ energy,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “Now, that power can be used. If the Ministry does not promise to institute the reforms we demand, in a few hours I will focus that energy on the financial centre of the wizarding world – Gringott’s Bank. The vaults will fail; the goblin wards will weaken and collapse –”  

Myklos made a noise that Jack thought was probably a laugh, and said, “Ah, such an opportunity for an enterprising bank robber. If only I were ten years younger!”

Wizard Prince sniffed. “Absolutely. Without the protection of the wards, the contents of the vaults will be vulnerable to looting. The hidden, unearned wealth of the ruling elite will be exposed for the rest of the wizarding world to see. Within a matter of days, commerce will begin to slow. By the time a week has passed, it will be nonexistent. Shops will close, international trade will cease, and the Ministry will be impotent. Wages will not be paid, and hardship will result. When it becomes clear that the many will suffer while the wealthy and privileged few continue to enjoy their luxuries, then –”

The alien spoke up again, its voice vibrating with excitement. “Revolution, wizards! Revolution!”

Tony dashed a trickle of dark fluid from the corner of his mouth. Why do we wait? We should not delay! The machine has sufficient power to destroy the Ministry now!”

Wizard Prince sucked in his breath sharply, and seemed to find some backbone. “What good will that do? If you remove one authority by force, it will simply be replaced by another. Change must happen from within.”

The alien’s voice was sharp, with an edge of alarm. “We is not destroying anything! We is not harming anyone! The Ministry is seeing what we can do. They will not be ignoring us. They is not wanting to risk their magic again.”

Pig-face looked worried. “What if they find us here?”

Tony’s voice was dismissive. “How can they? No one knows where we are. There is no other wizard still living who remembers this place.” He took something out of his pocket and stuffed it into his mouth. After a minute, he slid down on to the floor and his eyes rolled back until only the whites showed under half-closed lids.

Jack pulled his blanket tight around himself and waited.

 

.

* * *

.

 

It was properly light when Julia was woken again by a brief, feminine squeal of outrage.

“Sirius! You haven’t got any clothes on!”

“Oh, Merlin!” Sirius grumbled. “Haven’t you heard of knocking? Calm down, Ginevra, you’re a married woman. I’m sure there’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” He pulled a cover over himself.

Ginny gave a husky giggle. “Sorry.” She made her way into the kitchen and returned a minute later with a tea tray floating in front of her.  Julia peered at her sleepily. “Show-off,” she muttered. “Any chance of a cup of tea, Sirius?”

Ginny’s tray wobbled. “Wait until I’ve left the room if you don’t mind,” she said. “I don’t want another eyeful, thanks; it’s far too early.”

.

.

Lily and Albus were both in bed with Harry, and he was asking himself how such small people could take up so much space when Ginny came in bringing a tray of tea and toast. With his wand he sent a pair of shoes sailing from one side of the bedroom to the other and back again. Just because he could.

“Oh thanks, Gin,” he sighed happily. “How is everyone?”

“Fine,” she said. “But Sirius is naked.”

“Oh good grief,” Harry groaned. “I don’t want Sirius-bloody-Black wandering round my house without any clothes on.”

Ginny smirked. “He doesn’t have anything you don’t have, my love.”

“What?” Harry sat bolt upright. “You looked! You shouldn’t have looked! You should have closed your eyes!” He leaned against his pillows and pulled the quilt back. “Come on, squeeze in.”

.

He stroked Ginny’s hair, admiring the vibrant colour of it in the early light. “Apart from Sirius being naked, did they seem all right to you?”

“Hm, I should say so. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, it’s just . . . something Julia said to me last night. It seems – oh, I don’t know – almost as if she’s half-expecting Sirius to leave her. Did she say anything to you yesterday?”

“Ah,” Ginny was thoughtful. “She made joke of it, but I had the feeling she thinks Sirius will want to come back into the wizarding world. And if that happens, well . . . she doesn’t think it will include her. Not really.”

“Sirius wouldn’t do that to her. I know he wouldn’t!”

“Perhaps he needs to tell her that, then, Harry.”

He pulled Ginny closer. She was his anchor. Without her, he would be adrift on a sea of uncertainty, but he had no way of knowing if Sirius felt the same way about Julia.

.

 

Harry’s relief was profound and intense. He sat at the breakfast table, surveying the crowded state of his house with an involuntary smile.

Andromeda was as immaculate as ever – Harry had never seen her any other way. She sat on the sofa talking intently to Sirius, who was anything but immaculate; barefoot, in jeans and an unbuttoned shirt that revealed some of the dark tattoos and scars on his chest. He had tucked the ancient wand into the belt loops at the back of his waistband, like, Harry thought sourly, some sort of thug. He felt a powerful urge to tell Sirius to fasten his shirt properly and tuck himself in, but he kept the thought to himself. Julia was slightly dishevelled and flushed, looking younger and rather pretty as she buttered crumpets for them all.

Teddy’s untidy hair had turned a fetching shade of blue and he had steadfastly refused to let Andromeda mend his injuries. His bruise had matured into an impressive black eye, of which he was inordinately proud, judging by how often he was seen admiring it in the mantel mirror. Lily was practising her new-found walking skills and James and Albus were whispering together over the toybox. Ginny looked – well, she just looked perfectly beautiful, glowing in the spring sunlight, and Harry admired her complacently.

He heard the letter box rattle, and a cold shiver of anxiety ran down the back of his neck. “It’s not Quibbler day is it?” he said, to no one in particular. Inexplicably reluctant, he went out into the hall where he found a folded paper lying on the mat. He picked it up and looked at it. It was not the Quibbler; it was something else.

He sat down at the table and smoothed the document out before him.

“Bloody hell!” he groaned. “Will you look at this!” Ginny and Julia both peered over his shoulders

“Anyway, bloody hell,” said James.

“Buddy hell,” agreed Albus.

_“It is time to embrace democracy. For too long the unelected leaders of the wizarding world have failed those it claims to protect. Confederacy Liberatum demands that the voice of the ordinary wizard is heard, and that the wishes of the majority are respected. We demand a full written constitution, an elected government and an end to the appointment of Ministry officials and the Wizengamot by nepotism and hereditary privilege._

_If the Ministry does not announce its intention to commence the implementation of these measures without delay, we will bring the economic heart of the wizarding world to a standstill. Do not think this is beyond our power. You have seen how, in a few short hours, all wizards can be made equal in impotence by our Eversio machine. Even the once-mighty Ministry of Magic cannot prevent this. Do not doubt our will!”_

“How very interesting!” said Julia. “I mean, you don’t really do democracy, do you? Wizards.”

“What’s democracy?” asked Ginny.

“See what I mean?” said Julia.

“Anyway, Mummy and Daddy,” said James. “What’s dimocrity?”

Harry got to his feet. “I’ll have to go, Gin. I’ll be needed in the Ministry.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll let you know what’s happening as soon as I can.”                                                                                 

.

.

Witches and wizards were arriving in the Ministry by Floo at the rate of several every minute. The atmosphere was noisy and feverish as they dispersed to their various departments.

Before going anywhere else, Harry went his own office where he found an immense pile of mail waiting for him. He leafed through it, sorting it into piles according to how soon he needed to respond. One of the letters had the tree emblem of _Confederacy Liberatum_ on it. Wearily, he sat down and broke the seal.

_“The light of Revolution emerges from the shadows. Confederacy Liberatum fights for the disenfranchised. You have until midday today to announce the implementation of reforms. The Minister and his minions will no longer suppress the voice of the oppressed and ignored!”_

Harry was incensed. A violent thunderstorm started to seethe and flash over the dark forest in his office window. Angrily, he stomped to the Minister’s office but had to wait, with increasing frustration, behind a queue of other Ministry Heads of Department.

When it was finally his turn, he shut the door of the Minister’s office behind him and waved the letter at Kingsley. “I suppose you’ve had one of these? ‘ _The Minister and his minions –!’_ Minions? Is that me? Am I one of your bloody _minions_?”

“It would appear so,” said Kingsley, mildly. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Cheeky _sods_!” Harry screwed the paper into a ball and sent it flying into Kingsley’s waste-paper basket so hard that it bounced out again. “I’ll have ‘em for that if nothing else! What are you going to do Kingsley? I don’t think they’re bluffing. We can’t afford to ignore it!”

“Calm down, Harry, and take a seat. I don’t intend to ignore it. Percy is already drafting a response offering some preliminary concessions and requesting negotiations. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me where you are up to with your own enquiries?”

Harry took a calming breath. “You know I’ve been looking into an apparent kidnapping of two Muggles by wizards?”

Kingsley nodded. “Sally-Anne has been keeping me up to speed.”

“Did you also know that these disappearances seem to be connected to the death of an old woman in a Muggle nursing home?”

“I did.”

“And,” said Harry, “did you know that the old woman was Eileen Snape?”

“Ah,” Kingsley smoothed the sleeve of his robes. “Now that, I didn’t know!”

“Well, Eileen Snape connects the kidnappings to the theft of the Eversio machine!”

“Indeed? You’d better tell me how,” said Kingsley.

Harry gave Kingsley a summary of his visit to Hogwarts and the tentative conclusions he and Hermione had drawn the day before. “I met Sirius’s daughter, said Harry. “Megan’s a talented Legilimens. Did you know that, too?”

“I had heard, yes.”

“The boy who has disappeared – Jack Hargreaves – is her friend. She claims he showed her where he is being held.”

Kingsley laughed softly. “Now that is something the kidnappers won’t have foreseen!”

“I suppose not,” Harry agreed. “She showed me what he showed her. I know what the place looks like – from ground level, on one side. But I don’t know how I can find out where it is!”

Kingsley stood up and strolled over to his window, He twisted his earring and turned to face Harry again. “What you need is something – or many things - that can go and look for exactly what she showed you.”

“That’s not helpful, Kingsley,” said Harry, irritated. “It’s impossible! What can do that?”

Kingsley put his arm around Harrys shoulder and led him to the door. He opened it and pointed outside to where, on Percy’s desk, a fine barn owl was waiting for a message to be attached to its leg.

Harry looked at the owl. Then he looked at the Minister’s dark, inscrutable face. Then he looked at the owl again. “Oh Kingsley,” he murmured. “I should never forget how damn clever you are!”

“We have a significant surplus of owls at the moment,” said Kingsley. “They kept arriving during the crisis, but couldn’t go anywhere else. Go to the Owlery.”

.

The door of the lift was just closing behind Harry as he made his way up to the first level, when its progress was interrupted by a strong hand pushing it open again.

“Hold on, Harry!”

“Ron!”

“Have you got a minute, mate?”

“Not really, Ron, I’m a bit busy.” Harry stepped back from the door, beckoning Ron in. “I’m on my way to the Owlery. Come with me if you like.”

Ron stepped into the lift, and it rattled its way upwards.

“How’s Hermione?” Harry asked.

“Better,” grinned Ron. “Whatever it was you gave her to do, it seems to have done the trick. She’s nearly back to her bossy old self. But, bloody hell, Harry! That business of magic not working was a nightmare! Thank Merlin that’s over.”

“I don’t think it is over yet, Ron,” said Harry. “Look on this as a temporary reprieve. We’ve got to get this machine back – and we’ve got to find the Muggles and get them out before the group do anything else. But we don’t know where they are. And they know we don’t know!”

The lift jerked to a stop and the door opened. Ron followed Harry out into the corridor and cleared his throat. “I’m not really cut out for an Auror, you know, mate.”

Harry stopped abruptly and Ron collided with him. He regained his balance and turned round. “What? Ron, what are you saying?”

Ron looked self-conscious. “I’m saying I’m giving notice. I want to spend more time with the kids, and George has offered me a job at the shop. I can take Rosie and Hugo there with me.”

“Does this mean – is Hermione coming back to work?”

Ron shrugged. “She won’t give me a definite answer, but she might be.”

“Right.” Harry did not have time to fully consider this information. “Well you’re still an Auror for now, and I need your help. Do you think you can find Sally-Anne for me?”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “She was with Hermione a few minutes ago.”

“With _Hermione_? Why?”

“Oh, something to do with her granddad I think?” said Ron. “Some memory modification that had gone wrong? Anyway, Hermione fixed it for him. I’ll go and get her now.”

“Meet me at the Owlery!” Harry called after him.

.

The Owlery attendant he recognised but still could not name greeted him with a pleasant smile, but when he told her what he wanted to do, she looked doubtful. “I’m not certain it is even possible, Auror Potter. Are you quite sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Nope,” said Harry. “Not sure at all.”

Ron and Sally-Anne joined them. Sally-Anne greeted the attendant. “Hello, Eloise.”

“Eloise?” mouthed Harry to Ron.

“Eloise Midgen, don’t you remember?” whispered Ron. “She was in our year at school – left in the fifth year. Acne.”

“Ah, right. I don’t remember, no,” said Harry. “Sally-Anne, what’s this about your granddad?”

She smiled at him. “He’s better! Practically as good as new! His memory loss was caused by a bungled _Obliviate_ charm!”

“What? But why would someone do that?”

“Your cousin Dudley worked it out, you know,” she said. “But we had no way of getting in touch with you yesterday. Whoever was responsible for tampering with Grandad’s memory, well, they wanted to know where Ellen Smith was. You know, the old lady who died in the nursing home? She used to live next door to him.”

Another piece of the puzzle dropped into place. Harry, Ron and Sally-Anne walked over to the graceful arched entrance of the Owlery.

“All right, you two,” said Harry. “I’ve never done anything like this before, and I don’t know how it’s going to work. Wait here.”

Harry strode across to what he judged to be the central point on the floor of the high, circular chamber and looked up. Ranged on perches around the walls from ten feet above his head to the top, a hundred feet overhead, were owls of every type, every size and every colour. Dotted among those were a few corvids too. There must have been two hundred or more birds in the chamber.

Drawing several deep breaths, Harry stretched out his arms and emptied his mind of all thoughts apart from the task he had for them, reaching out to the small avian minds around him. Narrow and focused they waited for their instructions. Two tawny owls flew down to him and landed on his arms. He showed them the chimney then. It was dark against the setting sun, so it was the eastern side he was showing them; this they understood. Tall –very tall – it towered over the boy through whose eyes they saw. At the base stood buildings, all derelict and some collapsed. Fragments of machinery, incomplete and rusted were scattered around a yard paved with engineering bricks, lifted and uneven.   

Another owl flew down and joined the first two, followed a few seconds later by a fourth. _Find this place,_ Harry instructed them. _Find it and return to tell me where it is_.

A crow landed on his shoulder and a tiny, very familiar owl perched unsteadily on his head and twittered in greeting.

As he projected the image of the chimney and the ruined buildings, the first birds to have settled upon him drifted away and began to circle towards the top of the chamber. As they did so, more birds flew down to take their place, alighting on his arms, shoulders and head. After ten minutes, Harry’s neck and elbows and spine were aching and he was beginning to tremble with the strain. He didn’t want to think how many droppings had been deposited on him, and he had a nasty feeling that at least one owl pellet had found its way under the collar of his robes.

Finally, the last bird lifted away from him to join the others circling the chamber above. Then in a great swelling vortex, voiceless but with a deafening clatter of wings, and a sucking rush of air, they flew up, rising in spirals and departing through the distant windows at the very top of the Owlery.

In less than two minutes the chamber was empty of birds, and Harry was completely exhausted. He swayed and would have fallen, but Ron and Sally-Anne were there, one at each side, supporting him.

“Bloody hell, mate,” gasped Ron. “I don’t know what you were doing there, but – bloody hell!”

.

.

 

The locals had always known that a colony of owls made its home in the basement of a long-neglected town house just off Whitehall. They had been there longer than anyone could remember; it was the stuff of folklore. But this Monday morning, when dozens – some said hundreds – of birds emerged in the course of couple of minutes from a dark, barred window below the level of the pavement, passers-by cried out in alarm, staring in disbelief. A cyclist, fortuitously wearing a helmet, crashed into a bollard and more than one distracted pedestrian fell off the kerb or collided with a lamppost. A delivery van, the driver’s attention diverted, rear-ended a black cab, with resultant raised voices, pointed fingers and undignified, middle-aged fisticuffs.

But in a matter of seconds the birds had all dispersed into the spring sky beyond the roofs and aerials of the city. Too high to be observed by the naked eye, one by one they flickered out of sight and went on their search for the ruined building with the tall chimney.

 

 


	18. Comest Thou Escaped Thy Prison

** Chapter Eighteen: Comest Thou Escaped Thy Prison **

 

The fair-haired poet had returned soon after sunrise. A promise of spring was shining through the dirty glass of the high windows, and he was chipper and confident as he addressed the rest of the group. Jack and Ilona squashed together and observed from the side of a rickety stack of boxes. Wizard Prince, the alien, and Pig-face, listened attentively, but Myklos was lying down and hardly opened his eyes, the expression on his haggard face withdrawn. Tony appeared to be asleep, leaning against a wall, although from time to time he mumbled and twitched.  

“I have issued our demands,” said the poet, his face alight with passion. “All the wizarding world will know of _Confederacy Liberatum_ now! The Ministry has been given until midday to respond. They will not dare to ignore us any longer. Comrades, change is in the air at last!”

Tenderly, Wizard Prince stroked the machine before him, and said, “I think we can all agree that the first part of our plan has been a success, after some initial – hiccups.” He looked across at Jack and Ilona. Jack glared back at him.

Myklos half-opened his eyes, gave his harsh laugh and wheezed, “Hiccups? Two unplanned hostages, an inadvertent murder and a bungled obliviation! What would you consider serious problem, then?”

“We can learn from our mistakes,” replied Wizard Prince, stiffly. “My aunt must have already been sick, and the old man may yet recover.” He gestured towards Jack and Ilona. “These two are a more pressing problem, I admit. They must be obliviated – then they can be returned to their homes. You –” he looked at the fair-haired wizard, “need to put your scruples to one side. For the greater good.”

With a jerk, Tony woke, blinking and staring up into the dark space under the roof. Then he lifted his head and gazed towards the end of the room, his eyes wide and black. “The Dark Lord.” His voice was flat and expressionless. “The Dark Lord wants me. He wants the machine.”

Myklos sighed and pulled himself up into a sitting position. “The Dark Lord is dead, Tony!”

“The Dark Lord can never die!” Tony laughed. The sound chilled Jack and for the first time, he felt really frightened. “He is calling me! See?” Tony stood and pulled up his sleeve, holding out his forearm which was thick with scabs and seeping with blood and pus.

The fair-haired man recoiled in disgust. “Morrigan’s tits, put that away! You’re mad! Prince, show him your mark!”

The tall wizard sniffed, pushed his glasses up his nose, rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm, showing a faint, faded stain with a light film of flaky, dry skin.

“See?” said the poet. “If your Dark Lord was calling, he’d be calling you all.”

Tony punched his fist on the table, making Wizard Prince yelp in fright. “It is me he wants! His loyal servant! He has special work for me!”

The alien pricked up its large ears. “Quiet wizards! I is hearing something outside!" It scuttled over to the door that led out into the long chamber. The other wizards followed, except for Tony who was whispering to himself and appeared to be unaware of the others. Jack tugged at Ilona’s arm, and the two of them trailed behind, with their blankets draped across their shoulders.

Everyone looked up at something moving pale in the gloom, high against the rusty steel girders. A clattering noise echoed and resonated along the metal supports.

“It’s only a bird,” said Wizard Prince, dismissively.                                                      

“It’s not!” The fair-haired wizard was tense. “It’s not only a bird. It’s a bloody owl!”

Pig-face looked pleased. “I like owls. There’s another one, look!”

“At this time of day?” The poet’s voice shook. The bird came to a stop, perched on a high steel beam and hooted softly. A flapping noise came from the other end of the long room accompanied by a sharp screech and another bird settled close to the first.

Pig-face was sweating. “They’ve found us!”

“But that’s impossible!” said the poet. “How can they have?”

“I dunno.” The big wizard’s eyes were wide and afraid. “But them owls are Ministry spies! There’s another, look. And another! Merlin’s balls!”    

Myklos’s harsh, accented voice cut in with something approaching amusement. “Gregory is quite correct,” he said. “The Aurors use owls sometimes. The birds will return to them and then they will know where we are.” Several more owls and a crow flew in. “I suggest we get out of sight.”

 The wizards and the alien scrambled back into the side room, pushing past Jack and Ilona. Myklos narrowed his eyes at Jack as he passed.

“Prince!” the poet’s voice was urgent. “Switch the machine back on, now! They will be helpless without magic!”

Wizard Prince sniffed. “And so will we. In any case, the machine does not simply stop magic – it absorbs it. If it takes in any more now, it will become unstable. Then who knows what will happen! The energy it already holds must be discharged first.” He sat down at the table again and pulled the machine towards him.

“We gotta get away!” Pig face said, in panic.

“And go where, exactly?” said Prince. “Perhaps you are able to return to the welcoming bosom of your affectionate family?” He looked down his long nose at the big man whose face fell even further. “I thought not. We have two wands between five wizards and two Muggles. Even our glorious leader would not be able to take us all – if we had somewhere to go. If we leave the Muggles, they must be obliviated first – and that will take time! No. We must turn the power of the machine to Gringott’s Bank and then trust in natural justice to vindicate our actions.”

“Natural justice!” exclaimed the poet. “Have you forgotten it is the Ministry of Magic we are dealing with?”

“I do not forget,” said Prince. “We must hope that the seeds of change have taken root.” He turned his attention back to the machine before him. “How long do we have?”

The fair man’s voice trembled. “Maybe half an hour? Can you have the machine ready in that time?”

Deep in concentration, Prince nodded without speaking.

Tony became alert again and interrupted, picking at his arm. “We should use the hostages! Show the Ministry we are not afraid to take whatever measures we must. The woman first!” He had a pointed blade in his hand, the polished edge catching the light. He made a slashing motion with it and snickered. “We can take a finger or an ear to start!” Ilona gave a wail of terror.

“Where in Hades did you get that knife?” The poet looked appalled. “There is no need for such barbaric action!”

The thin, shrill voice shook with outrage. “You is a stupid wizard! We is not harming the Muggles!”

Myklos spoke up, hoarse and breathless. “We should remove the prisoners while this is discussed. I take them back to the furnace room while you decide what you do with them.”

“You’ll need a wand to lock them in,” said the poet.

“Is no problem. I have Mr Goyle’s.”

Pig-face looked indignant. Wha? _You’ve_ got it? How did you –?

“If you do not take care of your own wand,” said Myklos, “you can expect someone else to take care of it for you.”

Tony smiled, showing teeth stained dark. “I will be coming for the woman soon. Do not make them too comfortable.”

.

Though Myklos appeared ill and weak, he was stronger than he looked and caught Jack’s arm in a tight grip.

 As soon as they were out of the room, he said in a low voice, “Come with me. Quiet and quick. We need to be out of sight before they realise we are gone. You can untie these knots?”

Without answering, Jack rapidly unfastened the cord tying him to Ilona. Myklos nodded in approval. “The fools have underestimated you to their disadvantage, boy.”

Jack looked at Myklos with interest. The man’s close-cropped hair was steel grey and his chin had a growth of bristly stubble. His cheekbones were high, and his nose hooked, but his eyes and cheeks were sunken and his mouth pulled down at the corners. His skin and the whites of his eyes had an unhealthy yellow tinge and he had a funny smell too. He looked poorly but wore an air of authority and seemed rather dangerous. Jack did not seriously consider arguing. He thought he would like to be dangerous himself, when he grew up. He bet Arcturus Dark was dangerous like that, too. Jack tried narrowing his eyes a bit, but in the absence of a mirror could not judge how effective it was. When he got home, he would practise.

“This way.” Myklos guided them through a small doorway at the side of the building. Outside, the wind was cold and damp. Jack and Ilona pulled their blankets tighter. Myklos showed no sign of feeling the chill, but his thin lips were the colour of a bruise. On the paved yard, they hurried past the unrecognisable hulks of rusty machinery that lay abandoned on crumbling concrete slabs, overgrown with brown wisps of grass and bare brambles.

Myklos paused and lifted his face towards the sky. “We need to go that way.” He pointed towards where a feeble sun made the sky a paler grey. A mossy, cobbled track led through a pair of collapsed brick pillars where rusty iron gates hung crookedly open. Beyond the gates was a more modern grey steel safety barrier, and they squeezed through a gap where the sections had been forced apart. Jack looked behind and could see signs fastened to the barrier. _Danger! No Entry!_ _Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted!_

The cobbled road continued on a gentle downhill slope for some yards, ending at a stretch of water edged with sandstone blocks. A broken crane leaned over the bank and the tattered brown seed heads and strap-like leaves of reedmace broke the surface of the scummy water in a block about the size of a boat. An old lock gate led the way across the water.

“We have to cross, come.”

Precariously, they made their way in single file on the slimy, rotting plank to the other side of the canal, then down a bank and through a gap in a hedge into the field beyond, still travelling towards the lighter sky.

They were not very far into the field when one of Ilona’s shoes was sucked off into the mud. She cursed volubly in a foreign language as she retrieved it and wiped the worst of the mud away on a clump of grass. Jack and Myklos looked at her feet. Her shoes had been pretty ones with pointed toes and kitten heels, entirely unsuited to walking over a muddy field.

“I sorry,” she said. “Stupid shoes. I take them off.”

Jack looked in the direction they were travelling. “There’s thistles,” he said, “an’ nettles an’ brambles an’ stones. You can have mine if you like.”

“Not necessary,” said Myklos. “I need wand.” He held out his hand, expectantly.

“Oh, Jack!” said Ilona.

“Oh, yeah,” said Jack. He took the wand out of his sock and handed it over with some reluctance. “I nicked it off the big, stupid one. How did you know?”

“Ha! Goyle. You have his measure.” Myklos put his bony fingers under Jack’s chin and tilted the boy’s face up. “If you are thinking of taking a career in crime, take some advice from me. Hm? Don’t do it.” He gave the wand an experimental wave. “A clumsy thing,” he said, “but it will serve for this. Hold still.” He waved the wand over their feet. “ _Impervius.”_

“Now you’ve got a wand, can’t you magic us home?” asked Jack.

The man grunted. “It not work so easy as that. I am not strong enough now. And this not my own wand, it will not do such magic for me. It might do for you though, one day. It yours now, you know.” He handed it back to Jack. “Keep it safe,” he said. “You not know when you might need it.” Jack tucked it into his belt.

They walked on, following the line of the bare, prickly hedge. Jack looked back. Growing further away behind them, the tall chimney pointed up into the blue sky like an accusing finger. A couple of birds swooped away above them, and disappeared into the sky, incongruous in the daylight. The smallest owl Jack had ever seen flew down and circled around his head for a few seconds, twittering furiously before it flew straight up and vanished.

At the far end of the field, they climbed over a gate and made their way down another steep slope. Now they found themselves walking along the bottom of a cutting, where overgrown banks rose sharply away to each side. Under the grass, the ground was hard. Jack could feel stones underfoot and it was easier to walk.

“I reckon this used to be a railway!” he said. “Me teacher told us about this. There was someone called Beeching what cut ‘em all down with an axe. Or summat,” he added, recognising that his grasp of the subject was incomplete. “Are they gonna get what they want?” he said to Myklos. “That Ministry thing what they was talkin’ about?”

“Now? I doubt it.” Myklos did not seem to care. “The only one with sense is the elf. If the others do as it say, who know,” he shrugged. “They might even have succeed. But Dolohov is crazy. He thinks he still at war and his Bella and his Dark Lord speak to him. Goyle – Ha! If his brain was Fiendfyre there would not be enough to singe his hat. Prince is obsess with his machine, and Lovegood – Well, he is clever enough, but he live in his own world.”

“An elf?” said Jack, disappointed. “Is it not an alien then?” He had thought elves were tall and slender with long hair and delicately pointed ears.

“What is alien?” asked Myklos.

 Jack attempted to explain the concept but Myklos struggled to understand. “So you say is other worlds in sky?” He looked up. “I not see them.”

“They’re stars,” explained Jack. “You can see ‘em at night.”

“Ah. So wizards from other worlds in sky, sail ships down here. Is right? Why they do that?”

Jack contemplated this as they walked. The silence of the morning was broken by birdsong and distant traffic, their footsteps and the breathless man’s laboured gasps. They trudged on.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The first owl returned to the Ministry an hour and five minutes after the last one had left. It circled the Owlery a couple of times and came to a halt on a perch a few feet away from Harry, fixing him with its impassive gaze. He put his arm out, and as the owl hopped on to his wrist, two more entered through the windows at the top of the chamber. By the time those had also reached Harry, the air was turbulent with flying birds. Ron and Sally-Anne stepped away to give him some space and avoid the frenzied claws and wings.

Harry stood still and cleared his mind again, reaching into the small minds, seeking the information he wanted. There it was – the chimney, and the dilapidated building beneath; the paved yard and broken machinery. He flew inside with them; saw the long chamber with the great wheel and huge beam. Then he circled above the structure, seeing it from all sides and the landscape around. Bare fields, hedges, a derelict stretch of canal, a disused railway line, a road, a village. The name of the village? A sign; _Selwyn’s Mill._ It rang a bell for Harry, but he couldn’t place it. He needed more.

A tiny owl rudely pushed into the front of the queuing birds and twittered furiously, zooming around until it came to a stop on Harry’s head, tugging at a lock of his hair.

“Ouch! Stop it, Pig!” The little owl kept pulling.

“I think he’s trying to tell you something,” said Ron, shoving his way through the mass of birds. “Here, Pig,” he held out his arm and the little owl hopped from Harry’s head to Ron’s wrist and stared at him. 

He grinned. “Sally-Anne,” he said. “Go and find a map of the Midlands. A large scale Muggle Ordnance Survey map.”

“A Muggle map? Where will I find one of those?”

“Percy,” he said. “The Minister’s secretary. I bet he’ll have one. Or failing that, my dad.”

.

Ron and Harry spread the map out before them on the floor of the room outside the Owlery and Sally-Anne anchored the corners with a _Gravis_ charm. Eloise, the Owlery attendant, watched with interest from a few feet away.

“Come on then, Pig,” said Ron. “Show us what you got.”  

The little owl hopped on to the map and without hesitation tapped its sharp beak at a point in the middle of the sheet. Three heads met above it.

Harry put his finger where the owl had indicated. “Selwyn’s Mill, there it is! Now I remember – we drove through it the other day. But there’s nothing there!” He looked closer, peering over the top of his glasses “What’s this? He squinted. “‘ _Pumping Station (disused)’_ That’s it!” he said with absolute certainty. He smacked his palm on to the map, and Pigwidgeon squawked in alarm. “That’s where they are! We’ve enough information to apparate now. Sally-Anne – Ron; you’ll have to side-along with me. Are you ready?”

 

* * *

 

Standing atop a makeshift table, in a disused Victorian pumping station somewhere to the north of the Black Country, a small figure with large ears and bulbous eyes bounced slightly with excitement as it spoke, its voice high pitched and earnest. “Wizards, stand firm! Remember what we is fighting for! Wizard Prince, does you have the machine ready now?”

A tall, bespectacled man holding a tiny screwdriver nodded, “Yes, we just need to get the key back from Myklos.” He inserted the screwdriver into the machine that sat in front of him, and looked up with a frown. “Where has he got to?”

A thin, dark man spat a gob of dark matter on to the floor and a strange expression crossed his face as he looked at the others. “He’s not here, is he? That Polish _Pidaras!”_

“You wouldn’t dare say that to his face!” said a fair-haired man, scowling.

The dark man’s eyes flicked feverishly from side to side. “The Dark Lord needs no keys!” The speed of his next movement took the others by surprise. He grabbed the fair-haired man and twisted his arm painfully behind his back while holding the point of a vicious knife at his throat, drawing a spot of blood. The younger man froze in terror.

 “Stupid wizard!” cried the smallest figure. “What is you doing? You is letting Wizard Lovegood go, or I is stopping you!”

The dark man turned his wild gaze to the creature and sneered. “You wouldn’t have the stomach for it, elf! Do your worst!” He looked up, his eyes unfocused again. “Master, I am here! I am coming to you!” With a rough movement, he snatched Wizard Lovegood’s wand from inside his jacket, pushed him violently to the ground, and leapt towards Wizard Prince, who backed away in dread. Laughing, the dark man grabbed the machine from the table, and then, with a _crack_ , he was gone.

Lovegood was on his hands and knees on the dirty floor, shaking and retching. “My wand,” he gasped. “He took my wand!”

“The machine!” wailed Prince. “He has the machine! Where has he taken it?”

The elf was trembling with impotent fury, unable to articulate, and a big, thick-set man huffed and flapped his arms helplessly.

Wizard Lovegood pulled himself to his feet, rubbing his neck. He sucked in a deep breath and spoke. “He won’t go far – he can’t focus long enough. He’ll be splinched!”

They all looked up at the noise of a loud _crack_ from the yard outside.

“Is that him?” said the big wizard. The fair-haired man rushed to a door on the outside wall and tried to open it, but it had not moved in decades and was warped and jammed shut. The big man joined him and kicked it violently to free it enough to drag it open by a few inches.

Wizard Lovegood pulled the door closed again and leaned back against it. His face was pale. “It’s not Tony. It’s too late. They’re here! The Aurors have found us!”

 

* * *

 


	19. Proud Towers to Swift Destruction Doomed

 

** Chapter Nineteen: Proud Towers to Swift Destruction Doomed **

.

The abrupt shock of arriving in the cold mid-morning air set Harry’s teeth on edge. He and Ron pulled their robes up about their ears and Sally-Anne buttoned the high collar of her military jacket. Harry surveyed the area they had apparated into. The great chimney towered in front of him, and some yards to his side, a collection of dilapidated buildings appeared to be on the verge of collapse. Under his feet, weeds and little leafless saplings pushed the hard blue paving bricks apart. “Clever girl, Megan,” he said.

“Who’s Megan?” asked Ron, looking around as if he expected to see someone.

“Another time, mate.” Harry bit his lip and looked around the deserted yard. “They must be inside somewhere.” He saw a movement at a doorway to his side. “Over there!”

“Wait!” Sally-Anne tapped his shoulder. “What – what’s that up there?”

“Where?”

She pointed. “At the top of the chimney. It looks like a man!”

“Bloody hell!” Harry squinted. “It is! What’s he doing?”

.

A narrow gallery jutted out around the circumference just below the top of the chimney. The breeze was strong so far from the ground and anyone with the courage to stand upon it would be able to see the surrounding landscape of fields and roads, railways, rivers and canals for many miles round. But the man who stood on the precarious ledge, impervious to the cold wind that lifted his tattered robes and blew them back tight against his emaciated frame was not interested in the view. Indeed, it was doubtful that he even saw it, for he was seeing something entirely different.

“My Lord!” The man held the machine out in front of him in a gesture of offering.

“Well done,” the voice hissed in his head, “You will be rewarded for your loyalty.” The man’s eyes glazed, and drops of blood appeared in the corners.

“Tony,” said another voice in his head, this one soft and compliant and made of memories.

The man’s reply was an agonised whisper. “Bella, my sweet! You have come to me at last!” He gazed at her with longing.

She smiled at him, her teeth white and sharp; lips carmine in her pale face. “Here I am, my love.” She reached out to him with a slender hand, and he stepped towards her.

.

.

Something flew – no, fell – from the top of the chimney. For a split second, Harry thought he must have been mistaken, and it was not a man up there at all, but something else. It fell, silent, like a great dead black bird turning over and over in the air. Everything seemed to slow, until at the moment of collision, the land shook, and a shock wave trembled out in vast, circular ripple undulating away from the point of impact. The air shivered, and crows and pigeons flapped up into the pale sky shouting coarse cries of alarm.  With a loud _bang_ , a fork of green lighting fractured the morning, branching, not down from the sky, but up from the ground as far as the eye could see. It crackled and flashed for some moments in the clouds thousands of feet above, then abruptly ceased. There was an uncanny silence. For several seconds, all Harry could hear was the sound of his own panting.

When he had caught his breath, he dashed over to the crumpled heap on the ground. Crouching at its side, he gingerly lifted the robes and turned the head. It was a long time since he had seen that face, but it was not so mangled that he did not recognise the wasted remains of Antonin Dolohov.

A long, drawn-out shriek of anguish made him spin round, and Harry saw a tall, skinny man, his robes flapping wildly, run towards him from inside the ruined engine house to the base of the chimney. He dropped to his knees, grovelling in the dirt. Weeping, he began to collect the fragmentary pieces of the machine, completely ignoring Harry and the twisted and bleeding body on the ground beside him.

“Bloody hell!” yelled Ron from behind. “It’s coming down! Get away! Get away from the chimney!” A cloud of dust was beginning to gather like a halo around the great edifice. The outline of the structure was growing soft, losing focus.  

“Merlin!” Harry grabbed the arm of the man scrabbling on the ground and apparated some yards further back, in the nick of time, as the chimney, with a reverberation so low it seemed to shake his bones, began to collapse in on itself in a long booming crash and a rain of bricks and dust. A solid wall of wind nearly threw Harry off his feet.

He stood immobile, with his fist twisted into the collar of the tall man’s robes. When the vibration had stopped, he let go and the man collapsed to his knees.

Harry pulled himself together and nudged the man roughly with his foot. “Erasmus Prince, I presume? Give me your wand!”

The man looked up at him, his thin face streaked with dirt and tears. “Wand?” He laughed mirthlessly. “I was released from Azkaban a month ago. Are you under the impression that they supply released prisoners with wands? Or anything else, for that matter? I have no wand.” He bowed his head in defeat, then took his smeared glasses off and looked up at Harry again, this time with pleading clear in his pale eyes. “Auror Potter, will you let me recover what I can of the machine? It has immense historic value.”

“You must be mad! After what you’ve done?”

“Please Mr Potter, I beg you. Here,” Erasmus pushed the biggest fragment of the machine to Harry. “Take this back to Hector.”

Harry took it. “Merlin’s beard!” He raked his fingers through his hair, feeling grit against his scalp. “All right then. You can have a few minutes. That’s all.”

“Thank you, Mr Potter. Thank you.”

.

As the choking dust settled, Sally-Anne materialised with a large, cowed man covered in dust in front of her and a very small figure with big ears at her side.

Harry took his glasses off and cleaned them, awkwardly balancing the remains of the Eversio machine as he did so. Then he put them back on, staring in disbelief. “Winky? _Winky?”_

The elf pulled herself up to her full two feet eight inches with dignity, the only outward sign of distress evident in the blue tinge at the tips of her ears. “Mr Potter,” she said in a thin voice.

Sally-Anne was followed by Ron, leading a young, fair-haired man who was whining, “Oh man, oh man, it wasn’t supposed to be like this! Will I go to Azkaban?”

“Almost certainly,” said Harry, feeling no inclination to be kind. “You must be Marcus Lovegood. Are there any more of you in there? Where are Jack and Ilona? You’d better not have hurt them!” 

Marcus went white behind the dust that clung to his cheeks. “They were – they were supposed to be locked in the furnace room! Myklos was with them!” Harry looked at the ruined building in horror.  It was half-buried under the thousand tons of bricks that had, a few minutes ago, been a huge chimney. 

“Merlin’s blood! They can’t still be alive under there can they?  We’ll have to get a rescue team!” Harry was furious. He grabbed the unfortunate Marcus by the collar of his Muggle-style denim jacket and lifted him to his tiptoes, putting his face so close to Marcus’s that their noses were almost touching. “If anything has happened to them!” he screamed, “I’ll make sure you rot in Azkaban for the rest of your bloody life, you miserable little bloody reptile!”

Sally-Anne appeared by his side. “Calm down, Harry,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. Harry let go of the pathetic Marcus Lovegood who collapsed into a weeping heap of self-pity.

“Winky wants to help,” said Sally-Anne.

“Mr Potter,” said Winky, emerging from behind the woman’s larger form, her shrill voice trembling slightly, but clear and decisive. “We did not mean for bad things to happen to the Muggles. I is taking responsibility, and I is going to find them if they is in there, sir.”

“Yes, Winky,” said Harry tiredly. “Do what you can. Lovegood, give me your wand.”

“I don’t have it,” snivelled Marcus. “Tony took it. It will be under that lot.” He waved at the pile of debris. “We only had two wands between all of us, and Myklos took the other one.”

“Ron!” Harry beckoned him over, “You and Sally-Anne take Lovegood and –that one,” he nodded at the biggest figure, “to the Ministry and put them in the dungeons. Separate cells. And send someone from Recovery for – that.” He pointed in the direction of the rubble covering Dolohov’s body. “Take this with you,” he passed the remains of the Eversio machine to Ron, “and make sure it gets to Hector in the Time Room. I’ll wait for Winky and bring Prince along later.”

.

Harry watched in fascination as the elf, with intense concentration and perfect precision, moved masonry and debris into neat piles much faster than any rescue team could have done. In the back of his mind, Harry made a note to mention this to Kingsley. The elf’s skinny fingers pointed at the pile and she muttered inaudibly, lifting the rubble one piece at a time but with such incredible speed it was blurred. After a time he went over to her, and she paused in her exertions.

“Mr Potter, the Muggles and Wizard Zmyslony is not here. I is believing they has escaped.” The little creature sat down despondently on a pile of bricks. “I is giving myself up now, Mr Potter.”

Harry folded his arms and looked at her, asking himself what, in Merlin’s name, he was supposed to do with her. He wondered why Winky had not apparated away from the scene until it occurred to him in a moment of clarity that, likely, she had nowhere really to go.

Had Jack and Ilona escaped? Harry looked down towards the broken gate and the ugly Muggle safety barrier beyond. Leaving Winky where she was, he walked over to it. There was a gap between the steel sections and a path trodden away from it. He cast a _Vestigium_ spell and established that someone had indeed passed that way a short time before. Looking out to where the path led down to the disused canal and the fields and hedges beyond, he fervently hoped they were all right. But what did Zmyslony want with the two Muggles?

Harry went back to the ruined buildings and stood with his hands in his pockets, watching Erasmus who had collected as much of the Eversio machine as he could find. He cradled the pieces in his robes like a broken child.

At last, Harry walked over to him. “Erasmus Prince,” he said, “I am arresting you on suspicion of burglary, kidnapping, sedition, interfering with the natural order of magic and. . . Oh, Merlin, just come with me!”

 

* * *

 

 

It felt as if they had been walking for hours when Jack heard a faint noise not far away. That’s a car!” he said. “We’re near a road. Up there! He waved over to the right. “We gotta find somewhere to climb up.” He looked at the breathless Myklos with some anxiety; he did not look as if he would be able to scramble up the rough slope. But a few yards further on, Ilona called, “Look! Steps!” Indeed, a wooden staircase with a shaky handrail had been built up the side of the cutting and a fingerpost at the base indicated a public footpath. Ilona helped Myklos climb the steps, but when they reached the top his face was beaded with drops of perspiration, and he was gasping.

One at a time, they went through a kissing gate in the hedge at the top of the bank, and found themselves on a narrow country lane, completely devoid of traffic.

“Look,” said Ilona, pointing across the road. “It’s a bus stop!”

A bus stop? said Myklos, leaning heavily on her.

“You know, where you can wait for a bus to come and take you into the town?” she explained. “I wonder when the next one is due?”

“What if there was a magic sort of bus?” Jack said hopefully.

“There is one,” said Myklos. “They call it the Knight Bus, and one day, Jack, it will come for you if you need it. But it is not for me or Ilona.”

They crossed the road, and Myklos sat on the step of a stile where the footpath continued into the next field. He closed his eyes and seemed to be concentrating on breathing.

Ilona studied the timetable attached to the bus-stop sign and looked at her watch. “I not even know what day it is,” she sighed. “If it Sunday, then there is no bus, but if it Monday, then maybe. Unless we already miss it.”  Without warning the ground trembled. Ilona gave a little scream and Myklos looked up. They all looked back in the direction of the chimney, and saw a fork of green lightning thrust up into the sky and flicker among the clouds for several seconds. “My God!” she exclaimed. “I hope there no aeroplanes up there!”

“That was an earthquake,” said Jack, impressed. “I bet it’ll be on the news!”

“It was machine,” said Myklos. “Something has happen to machine.”

Jack turned away from the direction of the chimney and looked along the road. He gave a shout of excitement. “Hey, there’s something coming! It’s a bus isn’t it, Ilona?”

“Oh, Jack, you’re right!” Ilona stepped into the road and waved her arms so that the approaching bus could not possibly miss them. Half a minute later, it pulled to a stop beside them and the door slid open with a hiss.

Ilona climbed aboard first while Jack helped Myklos up the step. “We have to go to police station,” she said to the driver.

“Bloody ‘ell,” said the bus driver. “You’re them what’s missing! Come on, get in!  Come along ladies  and gents!” he called out into the bus, “This’ll be the most excitin’ thing that’ll ‘appen to you all year – if you’re lucky. Move along, make some room! Which one of you knows the way to the police station?

“I’ll direct ye!” called a voice.

“Come on, down ‘ere then, Bill!” A short, stout man with a flat cap and a walking stick made his way to the front of the bus and wedged himself behind the driver.

An extremely pregnant woman pulled a toddler on to her lap and beckoned Ilona, patting the seat at her side. Jack found a place by a jolly man in overalls who smelled slightly of manure. The man pulled a packet of Polo mints out of a pocket and offered one to Jack. He accepted without hesitation and crunched it happily.

An old woman in the seat in front of him shifted her substantial girth along and gestured for Myklos to sit beside her. He sank wearily into the seat. Jack could hear the his breath going in and out loudly. It sounded a bit like when he had to pump up his bicycle tyres.

The woman studied the man beside her. “You’re poorly,” she said. “You should go to the doctor’s.”

Myklos gave his harsh, wheezing laugh. “How observant,” he said. “It is too late for that, however.”

“There’s no need to be sarky,” she said and gazed into his face. “Yer eyes are yeller. Ye’ve got that look about yer. Me ‘usband ‘ad that look.” She sniffed and took his hand. He did not resist. “Ave yer done what yer wanted to?”

Myklos looked back at the old woman. “No.” he rasped. “My life has been many things undone. All I want now is to go home.”

“Yer not English,” said the woman. “Where is ‘ome?”

“Poland,” he said.

“I ‘ope yer get yer wish,” said the woman, patting his hand. “No one should ‘ave to die away from ‘ome.”

Jack listened, curious. So Myklos was dying? He was quite old, he supposed. The concept seemed distant and unimportant.

.

Ten minutes later, the bus drew up outside an ugly grey concrete building in the town. “‘Ere we are folks!” called the driver, opening the doors. “The cop shop!”

Jack, Ilona and Myklos disembarked amid much shaking of hands, a scatter of good-natured applause and a few cheers. A WPC had come out to see what was happening, and as soon as she recognised Jack and Ilona, she hurried them into the station, issued instructions for someone to ring Constable Dursley and Commander Perks, then plied them with tea and biscuits.

In a few minutes, a uniformed policewoman came to them. “I’m Sergeant Perks,” she said. “But you can call me Dawn. I’ve called your mum, Jack, and told her you’re all right. We’ll get you home very soon. Ilona, is there someone we can call for you? Your housemate has been terribly worried.  And, er,” she frowned at Myklos, whose eyes were nearly closed, his complexion pasty. “Someone will be here for you any minute now.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of a young policeman and a red-haired woman wearing a military sort of uniform.

“Oh, Dudley!” wailed Ilona and the policeman enveloped her in a hug that made her face go very pink. She started weeping again, which confused Jack. _Why ever was she crying now that they had escaped?_ He made a face. He was sure he would never understand women and thought he probably did not really want to.

“Dudley,” said Sergeant Dawn, “You’d best get Jack and Ilona home. Jack’s mum is obviously impatient to see him.” She cocked her head towards Myklos. “Sally-Anne this must be one of yours?”

The red-haired woman nodded. “Yup. Myklos Zmyslony?” Myklos inclined his head. “Come with me. Here, take my arm.” She turned back to Dawn. “I’ll pop back later to – you know – tidy up the loose ends.”

She supported Myklos as they left the room, and a few seconds later, there was a muffled _crack_. The constable looked relieved and exhaled through pursed lips. “Come along, young Jack,” he said. “Your mum’s desperate to see you.”

Jack felt an unusual desire to see his mum, too. He thought she probably wouldn’t tell him off too much. Not right away, anyhow. He untied her scarf from around his neck and put it into his pocket hoping to replace it without any fuss, at the earliest opportunity.

 

* * *

 

.

In the interrogation area of the dungeons under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Harry watched Sally-Anne casting a secure lock on the last door.

“Do I understand this correctly?” he said heavily. “Two dying men, a second-rate poet, a failed Death Eater, a disenfranchised house-elf and –” he glanced at the cell that held the largest prisoner, “– an idiot, have succeeded in bringing the whole of the wizarding world to its knees?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Keep them in separate cells. I don’t know that we can stop the elf from escaping if she’s determined, but she doesn’t seem to want to.”

He walked over and peeped through the hatch in one of the barred doors. Winky was sitting straight-backed on the narrow bed, her feet dangling a foot above the floor. She was motionless and staring straight ahead of her. The cell was small for a man, yet Winky was a tiny and solitary figure, and Harry felt dreadfully sorry for her.  She had proved to be more resilient and stronger-willed than he ever would have expected. He chewed his lip for a few seconds, then made a decision. He took his quill from his pocket and rummaged for a scrap of paper. Resting against the wall, he wrote a short and very untidy note.

He beckoned Sally-Anne over. “Will you see that this goes with an owl please, Sally? It’s for Hermione Granger-Weasley.” He glanced at the doors to the other four cells. “I need to check everything’s all right at home. I’ll be back in an hour or so to question the prisoners.”

.

.

Harry took his dusty boots and robes off in the porch, and contemplated cleaning them there and then, but he opted instead for his usual procrastination. He wandered into the empty and abnormally tidy kitchen. “Anyone home?” he called. “Gin?”

“Harry!” Ginny appeared in the kitchen. “Is everything all right?”

He pulled her into his arms. “Yes, thank Merlin! This is just a flying visit; I’ll have to get back soon, but I just – I needed to see you.”

“Oh, Harry,” Ginny said, tenderly stroking his hair back from his face.

“Where is everyone?” he asked. “It’s terrifyingly quiet in here.”

“Lily is asleep upstairs,” said Ginny, “but probably not for much longer. Sirius has taken the boys outside to sail paper boats on the pond, and Julia is packing her things into her car. Andromeda has already gone home. She said to say goodbye and thanks – and she’ll pop over at the weekend.”

He closed his eyes and held Ginny for a long time, until at last she said, “You’ll have to let me go, darling, I’m afraid. I can hear Lily.”

“Shame,” he whispered, reluctantly letting her go.

Julia came into the kitchen as Ginny went upstairs. “Harry, you’re back! Any news?”

“Yes, good news,” he said. “There’s still some clearing up to do, but Jack and Ilona are safe – they should be getting home about now. We arrested several people.” He grinned. “I believe one of them is our poet.”

“Quite right, too,” she said approvingly. “No one should be allowed to get away with that. But what about the machine?”

“Damaged beyond repair,” Harry told her.

“That’s excellent.” Julia smiled. “It must be such a relief for you.”

He investigated the contents of a biscuit tin and helped himself to a piece of cake. “It is. Can we talk, Jules?”

“Of course. You sound serious.”

“Apparently, young Jack Hargreaves is a wizard.”

She gasped. “You’re joking!”

“That’s what Megan says. Is she in the habit of making things up?”

Julia shook her head. “I don’t think she even knows how.”

“Do you think perhaps you could have a quiet word with young Jack? You know, get him to be discreet.”

“Discreet!” Julia regarded Harry with raised eyebrows. “You haven’t met this young man, have you?”

Harry shook his head.

“Well, I wouldn’t worry too much; he has something of a reputation for inventiveness. But we will speak to him, if you like.”

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Harry said. “I thought I wouldn’t mention it in front of Sirius. Dolohov is dead.”

Julia dropped on to a kitchen chair. She put her hands to her face. “Oh, thank God!” Her voice shook a little. “What about ‒? Oh,” she shook her head. “Never mind. Thanks Harry. Was it – you didn’t –?”

“I didn’t need to,” Harry reassured her. “He did it himself.”

Julia nodded slowly. “Even though he deserved to suffer, I’m glad his death isn’t on your shoulders.”

.

Harry watched Julia pack the last of her things into the car, and without prompting, Albie jumped into the back. Ginny and the children came outside to say goodbye. Sirius stood by the open passenger door, looking tense.

“You’re not apparating?” asked Harry. “I thought you didn’t like travelling in the car?”

Sirius looked gloomy. “I don’t,” he said. “But I’m going in the car anyway.”

Julia handed Harry a scrap of paper. “These are my phone numbers and email address in case you ever feel the urge to enter the twenty-first century,” she said. “Or you can owl us. Good luck, Harry. If we can help in any other way, do get in touch, won’t you?” She gave Ginny a peck on the cheek, kissed Lily and waved at the boys, then climbed into the car and started the engine.

Sirius pulled him to one side. “Ah, Harry,” he cleared his throat. “That, ah, business in the car the other day. You won’t – you won’t tell anyone, will you?”|

“Tell anyone what?” Harry said, grumpily. “That I had to scratch your neck all the way from the other side of Tamworth, to stop you howling? No, I bloody well won’t! And I hope to Merlin I never have to travel in a car with you again! Sweetie.”

Some colour collected in Sirius’s cheeks. “Point taken,” he said. He shook Harry’s hand. “Good luck with the clean-up. You know where we are.” He slid into the passenger seat.

Julia wound the car window down, and Harry walked round to her. “Sirius has invited Teddy to come and stay with us,” she said. “I’m not entirely sure it’s a good idea. There are lots of breakable objects in my house.”

“Of course it’s a good idea,” said Sirius, cheering up. “And anyway, he’s Megan’s whatever-you-said cousin.”

“Second cousin once removed. That’s true, I suppose.”

Sirius leaned across Julia to speak to Harry. “Julia has no sense of adventure,” he explained. “It’s a major character flaw. Ouch!”

Harry grinned and slapped the roof of the car. “Thanks for all your help, Jules. Have a safe journey home. We’ll see you soon.”

Ginny was jiggling a restless Lily on her hip. Harry put an arm around her shoulder and waved with his other hand as Julia pulled away, pipping her horn. The muddy red car turned the corner out of sight.

Ginny smiled after them, and Lily clapped her hands and struggled to get down. James had found a large slug under a stone and was poking it with a stick.

“Bye-bye doggie,” said Albus, waving his chubby hand. “Buddy hell.”

 

* * *

 


	20. Which of Those Rebel Spirits Adjudged

** Chapter Twenty: Which of Those Rebel Spirits Adjudged. **

 

Harry took a sandwich and a mug of tea with him into the anteroom outside the interrogation cells and stood for while looking at the five closed doors in front of him. “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe,” he muttered under his breath and made a choice.

Precariously balancing his lunch and wand together as he opened the door, he went into the first cell. He sat down at the small table inside and considered the wasted figure of the man lying on the bed.

“Go ahead, Mr Zmyslony,” he said, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Start talking.”

The man did not attempt to rise, but he turned his ravaged face towards Harry. “I know who you are.” The weak voice was mocking. “The _famous_ Harry Potter.”

Harry was used to this; most people did seem to know who he was. But the man’s next words took him by surprise.

“You are Siri’s godson.”

Harry’s tea slopped over the side of his cup, and he swallowed an uncomfortably large lump of cheese without chewing properly. He patted his chest, trying to ease it down to his stomach.

“You know – knew - Sirius?”

The man’s face grew, if possible, even more drawn. “I knew him.” He seemed unwilling to say more, and Harry did not press the point. “Very well,” said Harry. “I will have to interview you properly later on, of course.” Myklos nodded and turned his face to the wall. “But in mind of the fact that you helped Ilona and Jack to escape, you are not currently under arrest. I suggest you get some sleep. I will send a Healer to you. They might be able to give you some relief.”

 

 

Harry sent an interdepartmental memo to Percy asking him to find a Healer and drank a cup of peppermint tea to settle his cheese-induced indigestion before he made his way to the next cell. The prisoner was sitting on the edge of his bed looking mutinous as Harry closed and locked the heavy door behind him.

“Well, well,” said Harry. “Gregory Goyle. So we meet again.”

“Potter,” said Goyle, mustering a show of defiance, which did not impress Harry at all. He leaned back against the door, folded his arms and regarded Goyle, until the big man’s pale, piggy gaze dropped and he stared at his hands.

“You can call me Mr Potter,” said Harry, mildly. “Or Auror Potter. Whichever you prefer.”

He waited until at last Goyle muttered under his breath, “Aurorpotter.”  

“There, that’s better, isn’t it?” smiled Harry. “Now perhaps you’d like to tell me why you became involved with the _Confederacy Liberatum?”_

Goyle did not meet Harry’s gaze. “They was doin’ rehab . . .rehabilitation for ex-prisoners,” he said. “They was going to ‘elp me being rehabilitated.”

Harry felt a very faint stirring of sympathy but was bewildered. “I don’t understand. You weren’t a Death Eater. You’ve been out of prison for years!”

Goyle shrugged. “It don’t matter. Once you’ve been in there, you’re never free, not really. Unless you’ve plenty of money. Important friends. Family.” He sagged, his bluster gone. “I liked it there,” he said, miserably.

“Liked it! In _Azkaban_?” asked Harry, incredulous.

“Yeah,” said Goyle, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I liked it. I allus got me dinner and me tea and they let me take care of the owls sometimes. I like owls.”

“Just as well,” said Harry drily, “because you’ll be back there soon.” Goyle looked cheered. “The other thing I want to know,” said Harry, “is why Dolohov returned to Ken Perks’ house after you had messed with the poor man’s memory?”

Goyle was downcast again. “That were an accident,” he said.” It weren’t supposed to ‘appen like that. Tony said ‘e could do an _Obliviate_ charm but ‘e ‘ad one of ‘is funny turns and it all went wrong. We panicked an’ I left me wand behind. And the Chief said –”

“The Chief?” interrupted Harry

“The elf. The Chief. She said we ‘ad to go back an’ get it. So Tony went for it. An’ now I’ve lost it again. It prob’ly got buried under the chimney.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t be needing it where you’re going,” said Harry, heartlessly.

There was a knock at the door. Harry unlocked it without taking his eyes off the prisoner, and Sally-Anne put her head round. “Harry, there’s a visitor here for Mr Goyle.”

“A visitor? Who is it?”

Another woman spoke up behind Sally-Anne. “It’s me, Mr Potter. Eloise from the Owlery. Can I speak to Gregory, please?”

“I suppose so. Come in. I’m afraid can’t leave you alone with him, though.”

“I understand. I won’t take long.” She entered and Harry pushed the door shut behind her.

Goyle stared at Eloise as if he had seen a ghost.

She bit her lip and seemed to be fighting back tears. “It’s been a long time. Do you remember me, Greg?”

Goyle blinked hard. “Remember?” His voice wobbled. “Course I remember. I remember when you wasn’t there no more.”

“Can I come and visit you?” she asked.

“Visit? In prison, you mean?”

Eloise nodded.

“I dunno,” said Goyle. “I never ‘ad visitors before.”

“What? None at all? Oh, Gregory!”

“It was all right. I got used to it.” Goyle looked at Eloise, his eyes wet. “D’you really want to visit me?”

Eloise’s pleasant, round face was rather red. “Mr Potter, do you think I will be allowed to visit Gregory?”

“Erm,” Harry had no idea about the visiting arrangements in Azkaban. He did not think Hermione’s report had mentioned it. “I expect so. I’m sure it can be arranged.”

“Thank you, Mr Potter,” she said. “I’ll go now.” She took hold of Goyle’s meaty hand. “Be strong, Greg,” she said. “I will be here for you.” She gave Harry a watery smile on her way out of the cell.

The big man started crying and Harry was embarrassed. He cleared his throat. “Good. Glad we cleared that up then. Calm down now, there’s a good chap.”

He beat a hasty retreat, feeling that he had twice been caught on the back-foot. He hoped his next interviewee would prove more straightforward.

.

 

“Marcus Lovegood,” he said. “AKA ‘ _Amo_ ’ I presume? What have you got to say for yourself?” Harry pulled out a chair and sat down.

The fair man was composed. “I do not need to justify my actions to another effete member of the ruling elite.”

“You don’t think so?” said Harry sardonically. “Fair enough. You’ll be able explain to the Wizengamot instead. But tell me about Dolohov. I understand why you needed him. But what were you offering him in return?”

Marcus pursed his lips with disapproval. “ _Malevolence,”_ he said.

“Malev ‒ you mean the potion? Are you saying it was you who stole the plants from the greenhouse at Hogwarts?”

“It’s a horrible thing!” burst out Marcus. “You should be ashamed of using it! Those poor wretches need education. Culture. Art. Literature!” His voice shook with emotion. “Not drugging into submission!”

“I suppose it was you who wrote all that, erm, poetry, was it?”

Marcus fixed Harry with a gaze full of scorn. “I can see,” he said, “that you have no feeling for Art and Beauty. No sense of taste and discernment. Your soul is a barren wasteland like the poor unfortunates in that prison.”

“Well.” Harry smiled benevolently at Marcus. “You’ll very soon be in a position to educate the poor unfortunates in Azkaban to your heart’s content.”

.

Harry locked the door of Marcus’s cell behind him and made his way to the fourth prisoner. He sat down at the table and surveyed the wan, unhappy figure sitting opposite. “So. Erasmus Prince. What persuaded you that becoming a part of the _Confederacy Liberatum_ was a good idea?”

Erasmus’s mouth tightened. “I have been in Azkaban for eleven years, Auror Potter. Eleven years for simply wearing this mark!” He shook the loose sleeve of his robes back revealing the faded Dark Mark on his arm. “I played no active part in the war, yet still I served that time. And why was that, Auror Potter, hm?”

Harry blinked.

 “Because, Auror Potter,” said Erasmus, answering his own question, “I do not have the advantages of wealth and influence and friends in the Wizengamot. Unlike, for example, your friend, Mr Malfoy, whose sentence was, I understand, suspended indefinitely. And his father who served, what was it? Six months?”

“He’s not my friend,” said Harry, uncomfortably. “But I understand your frustration.”

“I doubt it, Auror Potter. I doubt it very much.”

Harry sighed. “You were Hector’s apprentice in the Time Room. I suppose that was where you came across the Eversio machine. But you became a Death Eater during the war. I’m curious. Tell me; why did you not give the information about the Antikythera – I should say the Eversio machine – to Voldemort?”

Erasmus visibly shuddered at the sound of the name. “Why would the Dark Lord have been interested in my work on an ancient artefact? No one else was.”

Harry stared. “Why would he be interested? In a machine that can absorb all magical energy within a two hundred mile radius, store it until it is needed and then release it with potentially devastating effects? And you think he wouldn’t have been interested?”

Erasmus blanched. “I don’t. . .  I didn’t. . .  I didn’t think of it like that!”

“Fortunately for all of us,” said Harry, “your cousin Severus did think about it.” He tapped his wand against the palm of his hand. “What am I going to do with you? You’ll have to go back to Azkaban, I suppose.”

Erasmus started weeping and a trail of snot dribbled into his mouth. Harry was revolted. He began to get to his feet when there was a knock at the door. Unlocking and opening it, he was surprised to find Hector there.

“Hector? What are you doing down here?”

“Mr Potter, I would like to speak to Erasmus.”

“I can’t leave you alone with him, you know.”

Hector nodded. “That is understood, Mr Potter.”

Sally-Anne came to the open door. “Harry, Ms Granger-Weasley is here to see you. She’s waiting in your office.”

“Ah, I need to speak to her. Will you supervise here, Sally, while Hector speaks to Mr Prince?”

.

 

Harry hurried to his office and found Hermione leafing through his in-tray. She gave him a disapproving frown as he moved it out of her reach.

“Hermione, I’ve got to interrogate Winky, but I – well I don’t know where to start! Will you help me?”

“What?” Hermione’s expression was deeply sceptical. “Like good-cop, bad-cop, you mean? You’ll lean over the table, point your finger and shout, and I’ll offer tea and biscuits? I don’t think so, Harry. I’ll talk to her, but I don’t need you there.”

She folded her arms and Harry suspected he was about to be told off. “Surely this unsavoury episode has convinced you that something needs to be done?” she said. “You – your  department ‒ the Ministry ‒can’t ignore things like this and hope it will just all go away!”

Harry raked his hand through his hair. “You’re right, I know.”

“You have read my report?”

“Of course I have, Hermione,” he said, confidently.

Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve only just read it haven’t you?” Harry was almost certain that Hermione had some sort of mind-reading ability against which he had no defence.

Her voice rose. “It was published eight months ago, and you’ve only just read it! This whole sorry mess is your fault!”

“Oh, come on, Hermione!” he protested. “I’ve only been in the job a year!”

“Well, not you, personally,” she amended. “But all of the Ministry, including your department. I daresay everything would just have carried on in the same way indefinitely if this hadn’t happened.” She riffled through the pile of papers on his desk and pulled out a document. She waved it under his nose. “Look! Percy’s report on prisoner rehabilitation. Published a fortnight after mine and still in your in-tray. Why doesn’t this surprise me?”

“It can’t have been there that long!”

“Harry,” said Hermione. “You’re Head Auror. It’s a responsible position! It’s not all broomstick chases and fast women, you know.”

“I was misled,” he agreed. “I haven’t come across a single fast woman.”

“Delegate this stuff!” said Hermione, firmly. “You’re not at school now. I’m not going to come and do your homework for you.”

Harry groaned and dropped to his knees before her. “Come back to work, please! I’m begging you. The Ministry is falling apart!”

She sniffed. “As it happens,” she said, “I am coming back to work.”

“Hermione!” Harry grabbed her hands and pulled himself up, clasping her in a firm embrace. “I love you! Have I ever told you that?”

“Of course you have, Harry!” Her voice was muffled against his chest.

A voice from the open door behind them interrupted. “Unhand my wife sir! You’ve a perfectly good one of your own.”

“Oh, Ronald!” Hermione detached herself, blushing. “Don’t be so silly.”

Ron sank into a chair and pulled Hermione into his lap. “I take it she’s told you she’s coming back to work?”

“She has,” grinned Harry.

“Harry,” said Hermione. “Why don’t you ask Percy to help you with this stuff? He’s thorough, and you can trust him. All you’ll have to do is sign things when he puts them in front of you.” She pursed her lips. “If you can remember how to, that is.”

“Harry doesn’t want to be bored to death,” said Ron.

Harry eyed the stack of papers. “Actually,” he said, “a little boredom now and then will be a small price to pay. I think I will ask Percy.”

“Come on.” Ron pushed Hermione to her feet and stood up, giving her bottom an affectionate slap. “I’m taking my wife home,” he said. “See you later, Harry.”

.

 

 

Harry picked up Percy’s report, took a deep breath, and started reading. Half an hour later, he made his way to the Minister’s office where he found Percy polishing his already immaculate desk.

“Percy!” said Harry.

“Auror Potter.” Percy was as formal as ever.

“Call me Harry, Perce. I am married to your sister after all.”

“If you were hoping to see the Minister, you’re out of luck, I’m afraid. He’s upstairs in Whitehall.”

“No, no,” said Harry, “It was you I wanted to see. It occurred to me that I never congratulated you on your excellent _Progress to the Future_ report.”

Percy looked surprised. “Do you mean _Forward into Progress?”_

“That’s the one,” said Harry. “Excellent, truly. Thorough.” Percy appeared faintly gratified.

“Comprehensive,” added Harry. “Insightful. Excellent,” he repeated, wishing his vocabulary was more extensive, but Percy’s chest swelled perceptibly.

“Perce,” Harry put an arm around Percy’s sloping shoulders. “Let’s go and get a coffee. I have a proposition for you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jack enjoyed his ride back to Layhill in the police car, although he was disappointed that Constable Dursley refused to put the siren on. He found the way the policeman kept giving Ilona soppy looks slightly distasteful and privately resolved never to be soppy like that himself. But the car was warm and comfortable and the noise of the engine was soothing. Before long, he closed his eyes and when he opened them again, the car had stopped in the small space at the front of his own house and his mum was running down the path towards him. He eagerly opened the car door and was swept into a suffocating, tearful, and very satisfactory hug.

After he had eaten a late lunch of fish fingers, chips and beans by special request – surprising his mum, who had offered to take him to McDonald’s – the doorbell rang.

His granny went to open it. It was Megan’s mum and her new sort-of step-dad. Jack had had dealings with Megan’s mum on one or two previous difficult occasions and found her quite intimidating, but Megan’s step-dad was not quite as scary as he first thought. His eyes were kind although they were a funny colour.

 “You’ve got weird eyes,” he observed. Megan’s step-dad smirked. “They’re like Megan’s. She’s got weird eyes an’ all.” Jack’s own eyes widened as an idea struck him. “Are you Megan’s real dad?”

The man winked at him. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? Megan tells us you can do magic? My name is Simon, and I’m a wizard too. But, Jack, you mustn’t tell anyone, understand?”

Jack nodded in agreement. “They’d think I was makin’ it up anyway,” he said. “If I can do magic, do you – do you think my dad might be a wizard too?”

“Hey, Jack, I don’t know. I suppose it’s possible. When you were born -and Megan too - we were in the middle of a war.” Simon looked sad. “A lot of things got messed up. Maybe you could ask your mum?”

Jack thought he probably would not do that just yet.

“You’ll be starting Hogwarts at the same time as my friend’s boy, Teddy,” Simon said. “I reckon you’ll get on like a house on fire.”

Jack saw Megan’s mum go pale. “Poor choice of words,” she muttered. “Jack and Teddy? God help us all.”

Simon laughed and clapped Jack firmly on the back in a masculine way he appreciated. “I think Gryffindor will suit you very well,” he said. “Bear it in mind. Take care of yourself, Jack. Be seeing you soon, mate, yeah?”

Megan’s mum and dad were about to leave when the doorbell rang again. Jack was surprised to see the uniformed woman with red hair from the police station follow his granny into the room. The woman looked at Simon and frowned.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere? Have we met before?”

Simon smiled at her and she blinked as if dazzled. “I don’t think so,” his voice was low and rough. “I’m sure I’d remember.”

As they were leaving, Jack heard Megan’s mum saying in a loud whisper, “For heaven’s sake, leave the poor girl alone!” The woman looked after them with a puzzled expression for a few seconds, then went into the kitchen with Jack’s mum and granny.

.

 

When they came back into the sitting room, Jack’s mum sat down beside him and held his hand. “Jack. My little soldier. Promise me you’ll never run away like that again. I’ve been so worried!”

“Run away!” said Jack indignantly. “I nev‒” he caught the red-haired woman’s eye. She gave him a big wink and patted the pocket of her jacket where he could see the end of a wand poking out.

“No,” he said, thoughtfully. “I promise, Mum. I won’t do it again.”

Quietly, the woman left without even saying goodbye, which was rather rude; but Jack’s mum and granny did not even seem to notice.

Jack liked Megan’s dad, he decided. He reckoned Simon could be dangerous when the occasion demanded, which was a quality Jack strongly approved of. He practised narrowing his eyes for a bit, until his granny said, “Oh bless! Look, Karen! The little man’s so tired he can’t keep his eyes open!”

When he was alone, Jack put his hand thoughtfully on Pig-face’s wand, where it was tucked into his sock. He could hardly wait to practise with it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sirius and Julia sat at the kitchen table after supper and Julia watched as he lazily manipulated the washing-up with his wand. He made a wooden spoon do a loop-the-loop out of the sink and showered the window with suds.

Julia tutted. “Look what you’ve done now, with your silly showing-off.”

Sirius grinned, and her irritation dissipated. She could not help smiling back. “I wonder how Jack and Ilona’s return will be managed?”  She switched the television on, curious to know if any of the day’s events would make it into the Muggle news. She nudged Sirius. “This is it. Look.”

 

The newsreader gazed earnestly into the camera. “Travellers on the rural Market Day bus to Layford this morning had some unexpected excitement when they picked up two surprise passengers! Ten year-old Jack Hargreaves and twenty-four year-old Ilona Lubianska who had been missing since Friday flagged the bus down and asked to be taken to the police station. Both are reported to be safe and well, although no details have yet been released. Detective inspector Hywel Price of the Mid-Mercia constabulary is expected to issue a full statement tomorrow morning.” He shuffled some papers and smiled into the camera. “And now it’s time for the weather in our region. Angela!”

Angela’s hair was glossy and fair with a carefully controlled and immobile wave, Her lips were pink and shiny, and her teeth gleamed as she smiled. “Good evening everyone. Before we get to the weather forecast, lots of you have been ringing in to see if we really had an earthquake earlier. Well, we did! Scientists at Keele University have confirmed that a tremor measuring three on the Richter scale occurred at ten-thirty this morning. The epicentre was in the tiny Staffordshire parish of Selwyn’s Mill. No casualties have been reported, and the only serious damage was to the grade-two listed Victorian pumping station. The chimney has collapsed, and the council say the remaining structures may also have to be demolished. But, even more interesting – we’ve also been getting reports of a UFO sighting! Passengers on an Easyjet flight from Belfast on its way into Birmingham International airport reported seeing unexplained lights above the clouds. Did any of you see anything? Call or email. We really want to hear from you! Now it’s time for the weather.”

 

Julia switched the television off and took a bottle and two tall glasses with twisted stems from a cupboard. She led Sirius into the sitting room and handed him one. He flicked it with his finger and it chimed, the sound hanging loose in the air.

“Your eighteenth-century crystal. Are we celebrating?”

She uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses, which fizzed softly. “The last of Isaac’s elderflower champagne,” she said. “I think a little celebration is in order, don’t you?”

Sirius took her hand. “Maybe,” he said and lifted her hand to his mouth. He licked her palm with the tip of his warm tongue, and she shivered. “I wonder if you sometimes forget that I’m still there. Inside Padfoot, you know.”

“Oh no.” she groaned. “What did I say?”

He stroked her cheek with the callused pad of his thumb. “We’re from such different worlds, you and I.”

Julia stopped breathing. With a careful movement, she put her glass down and sat, perching on the edge of the couch. She swallowed and cleared her throat, surprised to find she could speak. “You’re right,” she said. “You were born to so much more than this.” She waved her hand around.

Sirius seemed confused. “More than what? Julia, what – What do you think I’m trying to say?”

“Well, I –” the words stuck in her throat. “I suppose you want to go back. Into the wizarding world, I mean. I don’t blame you. I won’t try and stop you.”

Sirius looked horrified for a moment, then his face cleared and he laughed. “For a clever woman, you can be amazingly stupid sometimes. Merlin’s beard! You think I want to _leave_ you? I might be a fool, but I’m not an idiot!”

He knelt down before her and cupped her face in his hands. “I don’t say it enough,” he said. “I know I don’t, but I love you. And whatever the future holds, I want to spend it with you. Here.” He kissed her.

She drew back and looked into his eyes. The eyes her dreams had remembered, though she had not. Eyes that could shift like rainclouds or like mercury; or be hard and unforgiving like polished steel.

He searched her face. “Julia, when did you start keeping secrets from me?”

A tear slipped down her cheek. She put her finger on his mouth, traced the elegant line of his lower lip. “Never,” she whispered. “I’ll never do that. But there is something you need to know.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 


	21. Home to His Mother's House

 

** Chapter Twenty-one: Home to His Mother’s House **

 

An emergency Wizengamot hearing had been scheduled for the next day, and the four prisoners had been moved into holding cells prior to their respective trials. Ron had taken the last of his leave to look after Rosie and Hugo while Hermione and Percy had requisitioned Harry’s office to work on a set of sentencing recommendations. Temporarily displaced, Harry still had the thorny dilemma of Myklos Zmyslony to consider.

The Healer who had seen Myklos the previous day had visited again in the morning. Afterwards, he had spoken to Harry.

“Mr Zmyslony’s time is measured in hours now,” said the Healer, coming straight to the point. “By rights he should already be dead. He will not see a Wizengamot hearing or even another sunrise.”

Harry needed to do nothing more than wait for the problem to reach a natural resolution, yet he found himself uncomfortable with the idea of such a coldly pragmatic approach. In need of advice, he made his way to the Minister’s office, hoping to catch Kingsley before he went up to Whitehall.

.

“Kingsley, I don’t know what to do about Myklos Zmyslony. I could just  – well, let nature take its course, I suppose. But – he said he knew Sirius?”                                                   

Kingsley’s dark gaze slid over Harry’s shoulder. “Did he, now?”

Come on,” said Harry, “spill the beans.”

Kingsley looked at Harry for a moment before opening a drawer in his desk and pulling out a thin file. Harry tried to read the cover upside down, expecting to see Myklos’s name there, but instead it bore a series of letters and numbers. _DMLE/07/93 MZ &SB._ Kingsley put the folder on the desk in front of him and folded his hands on top of it. “There is material in here that Sirius might not want you to see.” He paused, then handed it to Harry. “You must be circumspect with this.”

Harry sat down at the desk. He found himself inexplicably reluctant to open the folder, and he hesitated before starting to read. It did not take very long – perhaps ten minutes or so, and as he read the interviews and witness statements relating to his godfather’s incarceration and ultimate escape from Azkaban, a lingering bit of his childhood naivety evaporated. Harry was twenty-eight. At the same age, Sirius had been in Azkaban for seven years. _Seven years._ He would not escape for another five.

Harry shut his eyes tight, swallowing the bile that had risen in his throat, then opened them again and looked up at Kingsley. “Hermione has read this, hasn’t she?”

Kingsley inclined his head. “It formed the basis of much of the reform she has already instigated.”

“She never told me. Not even a hint.”

The Minister looked sympathetic. “She felt you rather idolised Sirius. She thought your memories, while perhaps rather rose-tinted, were a comfort to you. She did not want to spoil that.”

Harry squeezed the bridge of his nose. “So, what do we do about this? Do we tell Sirius? Or do we let sleeping dogs lie, so to speak.” He laughed weakly at the feeble joke.

“I think,” said Kingsley, “I will speak to Julia.”

“Julia! Do you think that’s wise? They seem very happy together. I don’t want to do anything to spoil that for them.”

Kingsley twisted his earring, thoughtfully. “It may be that some closure is needed for Sirius. Julia has always struck me as a woman of exceptional common sense. Come and see me again in an hour.”

.

.

Harry sat at the table opposite Myklos. “So. Myklos Zmyslony. Renowned international Goblin ward-breaker and bank-robber. Why did you get involved with this bunch of losers – the _Confederacy Liberatum_?”

“They told me they would take me home. Now, I never get home.”

Even Harry, not overly given to empathy, sensed the soul-deep sadness of the dying man before him. He swallowed and steeled himself for what he was about to say. You –” he cleared his throat. “You branded Sirius. As your . . . _property_!”

Myklos looked directly at Harry, his eyes dark and hard. “Sirius was beautiful when he first came to Azkaban. If he had not taken my mark, the others would have –”

“Stop!” Harry would have said more if he had not been afraid of vomiting the sourness that burned in his throat. He swallowed again, feeling nauseous.

There was a sneer in Myklos’s voice. “It offends your delicate sensibilities, does it, Harry Potter?”

Harry forced himself not to react. “Yet you helped him to escape from Azkaban.”

Myklos nodded once. A single tear ran down the wasted face and dripped from his chin. “Siri was – delicate. Not in his body. Here.” He tapped his head. “Azkaban was killing him.”

Harry took his glasses off and massaged his temples. He was starting to get another headache.

Myklos coughed, a painful, strained sound, and continued. “When I heard he died, it – it was hard. But he died fighting, they said. At least he did not die in prison. It has taken me nearly fourteen years to die as well.”

Harry cleared his throat. “Myklos, it is true that we all believed Sirius was dead. For a long time. But in fact, he is not. Sirius is still alive.”

Fighting for breath, Myklos searched Harry’s face for any sign of deceit and finding none said, “I have to see him.”

“He is in a relationship. With a woman.”

“Of course. I would not expect anything different.”

“And he has a daughter.”

For the first time, Myklos smiled. “Ah!”

“I will take you to see him. Come with me. Are you strong enough to apparate?”

Myklos nodded. “If you give me some of your strength.”

.

.

 

 

Julia was dreadfully pale but composed as she opened the door. “Harry.” She stood aside and beckoned them in. Myklos stopped in front of her and she met his hard gaze. “Myklos,” she said quietly. “Sirius told me about you. I didn’t think we would ever meet. Come in here.”

She showed them into the sitting room. Sirius was leaning against the mantelpiece with his back to them and did not turn round as they entered.

“It seems in rather poor taste to offer tea and biscuits,” said Julia. “Sweetheart.” she touched Sirius’s shoulder. Without fully turning round, he pulled her into a brief, tight hug, then abruptly let her go and turned to face his visitor.

There was a long moment of stillness. Sirius looked as ill as Myklos. Then Myklos stepped forward and lifted his shaking hand to Sirius’s face. He traced the lines on his forehead and cheeks. “Siri?”

At last, with a sharp intake of breath, Sirius moved and drew the older man into an embrace. Their foreheads rested against each other.

Julia touched Harry lightly on his elbow, urging him out of the room. “Albie, come!” She led the way out of the cottage and closed the door behind her. Motioning for Harry to follow, she walked down the path and out of the gate.

Last time Harry had walked the lane with Julia in the opposite direction, he had been in no frame of mind to notice his surroundings. Now, though, he recognised that the lane they followed was an ancient one, only wide enough for single file traffic with occasional passing places in a gateway here and there. The banks at the sides were high and the hedges were tall, arching overhead and giving the impression of being in a tunnel. Clumps of daffodils nodded cheerfully in the cool spring sun.  No traffic passed them.

They walked in silence for a time, Albie trotting ahead of them. Harry desperately groped for something to say, but Julia spoke first. “I’m so glad Dolohov is dead. Sirius never killed anyone, did you know that? I know you stopped him killing Peter, but I don’t think you, or I, or anyone ‒ except perhaps Megan ‒ could have stopped him from killing Dolohov.”

Harry took a deep breath. “You. . . already knew? About Myklos.”

“Oh yes,” she said. “Sirius told me back when we were at Grimmauld Place.”

“Merlin, Julia!” Harry exclaimed in revulsion. “He – branded him! How can you –?”

“Harry!” Julia turned to face him and put her hand flat on his chest. Her eyes were bright with tears, her voice fierce. “I see that mark every day! It doesn’t only remind me that Sirius once belonged to someone else. It reminds me of how lucky I am to have him at all, and it reminds me of how strong he had to be to survive the things that happened to him in that horrible prison. Heroism isn’t always a great, dramatic gesture you know! Sometimes the greatest sacrifice is in choosing to live even though everything that made life bearable is gone. Sirius chose to live for _you_ , Harry. When all he wanted to do was die and be with your dad.”

Harry tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

Julia dropped her hand and resumed walking. “Without Myklos, Azkaban would have killed him or turned him into a monster like his cousin, Bellatrix. He was in Azkaban for twelve years, Harry, but we’ve barely spent six months together. We’re still learning to know each other. There are many things in his past I don’t know about. Not because they are secret ‒ although perhaps they are private ‒ but because we just haven’t had enough time.”

“Myklos doesn’t have much time.”

“I can see that,” said Julia. “I’m glad you brought him here.”

“So am I,” said Harry. “I was worried, you know. But I’m glad now. Kingsley said he thought it would be good for Sirius to have some closure.”

“Kingsley is practically always right,” agreed Julia. She stopped by a gate in a low privet hedge. “Here we are. Let’s go and see Isaac.”

.

Julia led Harry in through the back door, calling, “Hello! It’s only me!”

Isaac’s voice came from further inside. “Come in! Make some tea as you’re passing!”

Julia filled the kettle at the tap. “Go on through, Harry,” she said. “I won’t be a minute.”

Isaac was in his usual chair by the fire, but stood up when he saw Harry. “Mr Potter again!” I hope it is just a social visit, this time?” He held his hand out and Harry shook it.

“It is,” Harry assured him.

“Excellent.” Isaac waved Harry into a chair and settled back into his own. “So Jack and Ilona are safely back home, the villains have been apprehended, and all is well again in the Ministry?” He looked at Harry, shrewdly.

“There’s a lot of work to do,” Harry admitted. “We don’t want anything like this to happen again. If we’ve learnt anything, it’s that ignoring problems in the hope they’ll go away does not constitute a long term strategy.”

“Indeed it doesn’t. Best of luck with that. Now, tell me, do you know my cousin, Molly?”

“Molly Weasley, you mean? Yes, of course. I’m married to her daughter!”

“Do give her my regards next time you see her.” There was regret in Isaac’s voice. “I was always very fond of little Molly, but the Weasleys are rather old fashioned and set in their ways. Ashamed of being associated with a Squib, you know – so we rather lost touch. Young Charlie sends a postcard from time to time, but I haven’t seen him since, oh, ninety-seven? He did come to stay for a couple of weeks after that terrible business at Bill’s wedding. I think he needed a bit of a bolt-hole. Not seen him since, though.”

“Yes,” said Harry. “Yes, of course I will.”

Julia came in carrying a tray. Isaac cleared a space on the little table at his side. “Did you know Sirius came to see me this morning?”

“No!” Julia looked surprised. “He didn’t mention it.”

“You don’t know what he wanted to see me for, then?”

“I – Oh Isaac. I didn’t think he meant it. Not really.”

“Anything I’m allowed to know about?” said Harry.

Isaac nodded. “Sirius told me he wants to change his name. Officially, as it were. Live in the Muggle world. Not to return to the wizarding world. Since most of his ties with the wizarding world are effectively already severed, it won’t be difficult. There is just one remaining link he must undo.”

“Oh?” said Harry, “What’s –”

“But he might change his mind,” Julia interrupted. “He shouldn’t rush into making a decision like that. He’s too impulsive. I don’t want him to do something he’ll regret.”

“Jules,” Harry said. “I have learnt that I don’t know Sirius as well as I once thought – not by a long way. But I don’t see him changing his mind once it’s made up.”

Julia was firm. “He doesn’t need to make the decision yet. And anyway, what does he want to change his name to?”

“Grey,” said Isaac. “Simon Grey.”

“Huh. Original.” Julia smirked and took a sip of her tea. “Harry,” she said, “The news report was, ah – enlightening, this morning. Whoever you used to manipulate the press was very efficient.”

“Sally-Anne,” nodded Harry. “She’s good. Very good. She’s going back to Bosnia in a week, but I’d offer her a job in my department any day if she wanted to come back. How did they explain it away in the end, then?”

“Well,” said Julia. “Apparently Jack had run away because he was upset after a row with his friend at school. He sneaked on to a farm trailer and inadvertently ended up in the middle of nowhere. He found an old caravan in a field – probably one that had been used by the farmer during lambing fairly recently. It was unlocked and there were a few tins and packets of food left in it, so being a resourceful lad and enjoying the adventure, he made himself comfortable for a couple of days until the food ran out and then decided to try and make his way home. And Ilona, it seems, had been suddenly called back to Lithuania for a family emergency, didn’t realise she had lost her phone until she was in a taxi halfway to the airport, and couldn’t contact anyone to explain where she was. Then on Monday morning, when she got back into the country, she got a lift part-way home from the airport, and was dropped off at Selwyn’s Mill where she could catch a bus the rest of the way home. That is where she found Jack wandering on the road. It’s all ridiculously contrived but has a certain continuity, don’t you think?” 

Harry concurred. “I said Sally-Anne was good.” He spotted something on the cluttered mantelpiece and changed the subject. “That’s an unusual Gobstones cradle.” He got up and looked at the teacup-sized dish modelled as a pair of cupped hands. “Can I?”

Isaac nodded. “Go ahead.”

Harry picked up the green and black balls. “A _Lividus Sonoris_ and a _Viridis Consputo.”_ He tossed the black one a little way into the air. It flashed purple and made a noise like a dozen saucepans falling on the ground. “Shame you don’t have the rest of the set.” He put them back into the cradle.

Julia took her hands from her ears, grimacing. “Ellen’s – I mean Eileen’s gobstoppers. They’re Gobstones! Well I never! Are they always that loud?”

“No,” said Harry, “but you really don’t want to know what the other one does.”

.

When they returned to Julia’s cottage an hour or so later, Myklos was lying on the sofa. Sirius stood leaning against the windowsill with his arms folded, chewing his lip. Myklos struggled to rise when they entered the room, but Julia gestured for him to stay where he was. She knelt on the floor by his side and took one of his hands. She spoke to him, but her voice was quiet and Harry could not hear what she said. Sirius took his arm and led him into the kitchen.

“Harry,” he said. “I want to take Myklos home. Will you help me?”

“Take him home? To _Poland_ you mean? How? There’s no way we can do that without help!”

“You can get that help, Harry. Can’t you?”

“The only thing that can help us take him over those distances is – Oh! Really, Sirius? You want me to get Kreacher?”

Sirius was calm and determined. “It’s the only way.”

“Are you absolutely sure about this? I’m not sure Kreacher will be too happy.”

“Oh, come on,” said Sirius. “Kreacher doesn’t really do ‘happy’ does he?”

“You’d be surprised,” said Harry. “He’s much more cheerful these days.”

“Without me around, you mean.”

“Well, I didn’t quite mean –”

“Yes you did, and you’re quite right. But I want you to get him. Please, Harry?”

“Oh, very well,” Harry sighed. He drew a breath and shouted, “Kreacher!”

In a few seconds, there was a _crack_ and the wizened elf appeared before them. He bowed to Harry and ignored Sirius who seemed to find that amusing. Then Sirius spoke. “Kreacher.”

The elf turned to him with dislike in his watery, protuberant eyes.

“Both of you need to hear what I have to say,” said Sirius. “Isaac explained to me this morning what I had never fully appreciated before – though Kreacher already knows this, I’m sure. The ties that bind house-elves to the ancient wizarding families are very deep and very old. Kreacher serves you now, Harry, but he is still bound to the Black family. To me. Do you understand? He is the one thing that still tethers me to the wizarding world. But Kreacher is also bound to the house at Grimmauld Place. The magic that ties him to that place is Old Magic, the _Eald-wyrcan_ and beyond my power to undo – even if Kreacher wanted it undone.”

Kreacher’s gaze was cold, his voice dull. “Kreacher will die without a home in the Great and Noble House.”

Sirius nodded. “Yes. That is why, Harry, before I do what I have to do. I want you to promise Kreacher that he will always be able to make his home in the house at Grimmauld Place.”

Harry was utterly confused, but he sensed something else shifting in what he understood about the parameters of magic.

“Of course,” he agreed. “Kreacher, you have my vow that Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place will be home to you and any of your descendants for as long as you need it.”

“Thank you, Harry.” Sirius knelt down so that he was level with the elf.

“Kreacher, I am sure that you want to be tied to me no more than I do to you. I am going to ask you to help me take my friend home to the place of his birth.  A thing that you were unable to do for my brother, though I know you would have done if you could.”

“Master Regulus,” whispered Kreacher, beginning to weep.

“Yes,” Sirius said. “I know you would have brought him home if it had been within your power. But you will never have to act from obligation again.” He untied a cotton bandana from around his neck and held it out to Kreacher. The elf’s damp eyes were full of terror and something else. _Excitement._

“Sirius –!” said Harry.

Sirius looked up. “Do you want a servant who attends you only because he must, Harry, really?” He spoke to the elf again. “You must take this, Kreacher. You cannot refuse it. Then all choices will be your own to make.”

Kreacher’s bony, twisted hand shook as it reached for the cloth and took it. He knotted it around his own wrinkled neck.

“I can’t command you now,” said Sirius, “and nor can Harry. But I can ask. Will you help us to take Myklos home? Please.”

Kreacher was silent for a long time. He blinked slowly a number of times and the wrinkled, snout-like nose twitched. Harry half-expected him to disapparate while they waited for a reply, but eventually the elf answered. “Kreacher will help you take the dying wizard home.”

Sirius closed his eyes and stood up with an audible sigh of relief. Harry realised how afraid he must have been that Kreacher would refuse. And what a gamble he had just taken.

Julia came into the kitchen. “What are you two plotting in here? Oh!” She jumped when she saw Kreacher. “I thought I heard something. What’s going on? He’s – Oh, Sirius, he’s wearing your scarf!”

Sirius pulled her to his side. “Kreacher is no longer tied to me, nor I to him. Now we are going to take Myklos home.”

“Ah,” she gave a long exhalation. “I see. You’re right to take him.” She reached up and stroked the errant lock of hair away from his face. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

.

“Wizards,” said Kreacher, “You is choosing the way. We is travelling in stages.”

Sirius supported Myklos, who could no longer stand upright on his own. Kreacher took hold of Harry and Sirius by the arms with his strong, bony hands.

Harry nodded. “Where to first, then?”

“Brittany,” said Sirius. “Dinan.” In a dense, suffocating twist of space and gut, they were standing at the base of a vast, featureless stone wall on the outskirts of a town.  “One of my ancestors was a mercenary here before he joined forces with the Duke of Burgundy. Catch your breath.” Myklos was leaning heavily on him.

“Wizards.” The elf tightened his grip on their arms again.

“Germany next,” said Sirius. “[Osnabrück](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Osnabr%C3%BCck_\(district\)).”

They were standing in a wide, sweeping valley, thickly forested at the sides with dark pines and trees just beginning to show the first yellow haze of spring. In the flat green grassland, dark spikes of rushes poked out. A biting wind sliced the air. “My ancestor Arminius lured fifteen thousand Roman soldiers into the marshes here and saw them slaughtered.” Sirius looked grim. “Don’t wander off.”

Kreacher released them and looked around. “Kreacher’s many-times grandfather was here, also.”

Harry shivered. “Bloodthirsty lot, weren’t they, your ancestors?”

Sirius gave his bark-like laugh. “Son,” he said, “you don’t know the half of it.” He was almost carrying Myklos who was white and sweating. “Where next?”

Kreacher gripped them once more. “Hungary,” said Harry. They could see the distant sweep of a dragon crossing the horizon above the spires of a distant city. “Just north of Prague. I spent a couple of weeks here with Charlie, when I was training. That looks like a Horntail.”

“Right. Myklos are you ready?” said Sirius. “It’s down to you, now.”

“Yes.” The rasp was barely audible. “Home.” For a second, Harry saw an image of an old wooden farmhouse, a woman in an apron with a kind, pretty face running towards him, smiling. Then they were standing by a low wall outside a neglected and overgrown orchard. Most of the trees inside looked dead. Behind them, was a derelict wooden house and a ruined barn.

Kreacher let go of them, folded his hands and bowed to Harry. “Mr Potter sir, Kreacher has completed the task. Mr Potter and . . . Mr Grey . . . will not need Kreacher’s assistance to return. Kreacher will go home to Grimmauld Place now.”

“Thank you, Kreacher,” said Sirius. “I doubt if we will meet again. I wish you well.”

Kreacher fixed Sirius with an inscrutable gaze for several seconds, then, with a _crack_ , the elf was gone.

“The orchard,” gasped Myklos, and Harry and Sirius helped him through an opening in the mossy wall where there had once been a gate, and to the orchard at the back of the ruined house, where just one of the trees was showing some pink blossom on a few branches.

“Go and take a walk or something, Harry,” said Sirius. It sounded more like an order than a request, but Harry had no inclination to argue. Sirius sat back against the bole of the old apple tree and laid Myklos’s head in his lap. The older man’s breath rattled in his ruined lungs, and he showed no sign of consciousness other than his fingers laced tight into Sirius’s.

.

.

When Harry estimated that he had spent a good hour kicking his heels in the bleak and deserted landscape, he made his way back to where he had left the two men. It was obvious that Myklos was dead. Sirius had laid him on the ground beside the tree and had found two old spades from somewhere; the dilapidated barn, Harry guessed. Sirius had already dug through the tough, wiry grass and marked out the rectangular shape of a grave.

“Here.” Sirius threw one of the spades vertically towards him and Harry reflexively caught it by the shaft. “I mended it. It will hold for a while. Are you going to help?”

“What? You want to dig a grave by hand?”

“It won’t need to be very deep. And yes, I do.”

“Why don’t you use magic?”

Sirius stopped for a moment and considered. “I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted, “it just seems right, you know?”

Harry remembered how he had buried Dobby and nodded. He did know. He started to dig beside his godfather.

“This’ll render some of the fat off you,” said Sirius.

“Fat! I’m not bloody fat!” said Harry, indignantly.

“No? Well you soon will be if you’re not careful.”

“Bugger off,” muttered Harry, and Sirius sniggered.

After a while, Harry realised that his forty-nine year old godfather was significantly fitter than his twenty-eight year old self and raw patches were already appearing on his palms. Panting and sweating he stopped, and watched Sirius digging, apparently tireless, with efficient, economical movements.

“Where did you learn to dig like that, then?” he asked.

“It’s what I do now, Harry. Manual labour.” Sirius paused and leaned on his spade. “Surprised?”

“Yes, of course I am! Well,” Harry pondered. “Maybe not. It suits you.”

“It does.”

“Don’t you want to come back properly?” said Harry. “Into the wizarding world, I mean.”

“Oh, not you as well! And do what, exactly? Are you offering me a job as an Auror?”

Harry was taken aback. “Well, I suppose I’m a man down. Er, would you _want_ a job as an Auror?”

“Merlin’s beard!” Sirius rolled his eyes. “Of course I wouldn’t! Don’t you know when I’m joking, Harry? I’d be more likely to side with the villains.”

“Oh. You’re right, you’d make a terrible Auror. I’m sure we could find something else for you to do.”

“Really? A professorship at Hogwarts? Specialising in the Afterlife? Or an after dinner speaker, perhaps, regaling heads of Ministry departments with witty anecdotes about Azkaban?” Sirius looked at Harry. “The life I have now, with Julia – in the Muggle world – I’m content with that. I’m happy, Harry. No one expects more from me than I can give.” He pulled his spade out of the ground. “Come on. We’re nearly done.” He started digging again, and in a little while, so did Harry.

.

“Do you want me to help – you know.” Harry indicated Myklos’s body.

Sirius shook his head. “No. I’ll do it. There’s nothing of him now. You wouldn’t think so, but he was a powerful man in his day. Everyone was frightened of him.”

“Everyone? You too?”

“Oh, yes. At first I was. Later on, no.”

With a grunt of effort, Sirius lifted Myklos up and laid him in the shallow grave, laying him on his side in a semi-foetal position. Taking something out of his pocket, he went to place it between the dead man’s hands.

“What’s that?” asked Harry.

Sirius passed it over to him. It was a small, exquisitely carved wooden model of a dog that looked remarkably like Padfoot.

“This is beautiful!” said Harry stroking the satiny polished surface and admiring the way the lines of the model followed the grain of the wood. “Wherever did you get it?”

“Do you think so?” Sirius looked pleased. “I made it. It was supposed to be Albie, but Julia said it looks more like Padfoot.”

“It does,” said Harry. “You never cease to amaze me.” He handed it back to Sirius who put the little figure between Myklos’s hands, gently closing the bony fingers around it.

“Goodbye, old friend.” His voice was soft. “You deserved better than the life you had, while I have one I never earned. Fate is a capricious dealer.” He sprinkled a handful of soil over the body, then straightened up. “Enough’s enough.” He waved his wand until the loose soil had covered the body and the grave was just a bare mound.

“I am proud to have known him, Harry, and privileged to have been loved by him. And that –” he waved his wand once more over the bare earth and a pale green mist of new grass appeared on the surface “– is the only conversation you and I will ever have on the matter. Understood?” He reached up, twisted a sprig of apple blossom from the old tree, and laid it on the grave.

“Understood,” agreed Harry, with considerable relief. “Time to go home?”

“Yes. Time to go home.”

 

 


	22. Equity Restored

 

** Chapter Twenty-Two: Equity restored **

 

“Ginny,” said Harry over breakfast. “You really need to do something about Albus.”

“What do you mean?” She spooned cereal into Lily’s open mouth.

“Well, his language, obviously.”

“Buddy hell,” said Albus, contemplating his porridge.

“Anyway, Daddy,” said James. “Albus said the bad word again. That’s naughty isn’t it, Mummy?”

Ginny scowled. “Why’s it up to me to _do something_ about it Harry? He learnt it from you!”

Harry sighed. “Perhaps he’ll grow out of it.” He spread some marmalade on his toast. “You know, it’s Eileen’s funeral tomorrow. I think I should go.”

“I think _we_ should go,” said Ginny. “I know Severus was a – a difficult man, but he was a brave one. And he made sure the machine was no use to Voldemort. It would show some respect wouldn’t it?” she looked thoughtful. “It seems he did care for his mother, after all.”

“Yes, I think he did,” agreed Harry. “I’ll be glad to have you there with me.”

“I’ll see if Mum can have the children,” she said. “And I suppose we should do something about cleaning your suit.”

.

The next day was the first one of the year that Harry felt winter was finally behind them. The sun was warm as he and Ginny walked through the lych gate of the village church and along the wide stone path that ran through the middle of the graveyard towards the vast and ancient yew trees that stood on each side of the entrance. Outside the open door waited an elegant couple he did not recognise. The woman was stylish in a dark fitted jacket and skirt; the man with her was tall and distinguished, wearing a sharp and expensive-looking suit.

“Harry!” said the woman, smiling. “I’m so glad you decided to come!”

Harry gaped. “Julia? Is that you?”  

She giggled. “Of course it’s me!”

“You look different. Very nice!” He became conscious of the dishevelled state of his own suit that was a fraction too tight about the waist and still bore a pale stain on the shoulder.

“Sirius!” said Ginny, “you look terribly handsome. A real silver fox!”

Sirius smiled at her and she blinked. “That should be illegal!” she said, indignantly.

“Yes, it bloomin’ should,” said Harry putting a possessive arm around her waist. “I’ll thank you not to smile at my wife, if it’s all the same to you.”

“The hearse is here,” said Julia, pointing to the gate where a gleaming black car had pulled up. She took Sirius’s arm. “It’s time to go in.”

The little church was chilly inside. Footsteps and murmurs echoed overhead. The gurgling Victorian cast-iron radiators made no noticeable impact on the temperature, although the spring sun made the stained glass panes of the east-facing chancel window glitter like jewels. The saint depicted in the central panel appeared to be a medieval nun standing under an archway, holding two interlinked serpents in one hand and a bible in the other. It was a curious coincidence, Harry thought absent-mindedly, that the configuration of the archway depicted in the window was very similar to the one that stood in the Death Chamber, deep in the Department of Mysteries. There was something else about the image that was oddly familiar, but he could not quite place it.

Only the front pews were occupied. Harry recognised Erasmus being escorted by Sally-Anne, and Isaac Prewett seated beside a fragile old man accompanied by a woman who looked very much like Sally-Anne. Harry assumed that it was her sister, Dawn, and that the old man must be her grandfather, Ken Perks. Two more women escorted a handful of elderly and obviously infirm people he guessed were residents of the nursing home. Harry recognised the younger of the two woman as the one who had been kidnapped _. Ilona._ That was it. He sidled on to one of the long benches and Ginny slid in beside him.

Set here and there around the walls were memorial plaques to long-dead parishioners. Idly, Harry read the one nearest to him. _Hezekiah Prewett of this Parish. Lately deceased Ano Dom 1693_ , it said. He peered at another, _Neere this place Lyeth ye body of Redemption Selwyn, Born on ye twelfth day of June 1523, departed thys lyfe ye thirteenth day of December 1667_. Harry did some mental arithmetic. A hundred and forty-four! Surely that couldn’t be right? Not for a Muggle! With a faint shock, he noticed another plaque dedicated to Alcor Black. _Black?_ It was not an unusual surname, he reminded himself. But the motif of linked snakes carved above the inscription was one he recognised. Then he realised why the saint in the stained glass window seemed so familiar. Hanging in a dark corner of a rarely used apartment in the house at Grimmauld Place was a small painting that portrayed a similar subject.

The service was brief and impersonal. The little congregation mumbled a tuneless rendition of “Abide with Me” along to a dreary recorded musical accompaniment and raced with unseemly speed through the Lord’s Prayer. Then the vicar said, “The body of our sister Eileen will now be taken to the crematorium for committal. Meanwhile, you are all invited back to Laybrook Court where some refreshments have been laid on.”

As the mourners filtered outside, Sally-Anne and Erasmus disappeared behind a door marked ‘private’ and shortly afterwards, Harry heard a muffled _crack_.

The little crowd gathered on the path. “Are you coming for a sandwich and a drink?” Julia asked Harry.

Harry glanced at Ginny, whose lack of enthusiasm was obvious. “I don’t think so,” he said. “We’ll get home soon. I wanted a quick word with Mr Prewett, but he seems to be busy.” He nodded towards Isaac who was deep in conversation with Sally-Anne’s sister and grandfather.

“I think Mr Perks is coming to live at Laybrook Court,” murmured Julia, confidentially.

If he’s talking to Isaac about it,” said Harry, “does that mean he’s a wizard?”

“No idea,” Julia shrugged. “And I’m not going to ask. I’ll just say that nothing surprises me these days.”

Harry felt much the same.

 

* * *

 

 

Driving through Layhill on his way back to the station, Dudley noticed the hearse outside the church and remembered it was the day of Ellen’s funeral. He knew Ilona would be there and decided to stop and say hello, even though he was going to see her that evening anyway.

He pulled into the layby opposite the school and walked across the road, seeing Harry and Ginny by the main door talking to a small, elegant woman and a tall, grey-haired man. With envy, he noticed that the taller man was wearing a suit that must have cost two months’ worth of his own salary, if not more.

Harry nodded in greeting. Ginny and the other woman looked over, and with surprise, he recognised Julia. She gave him a friendly wave. _Do all That Lot know each other, then?_ he wondered.

Julia’s partner – _Simon,_ that was it – glanced in his direction, and Dudley was taken aback to see outright hostility on his face. Julia took his hand and said something, and the man turned to her, his expression softening.

Dudley spotted Ilona helping an old woman to negotiate the path behind a wheeled walking frame. He waved at her, realising too late, that the figure bedecked in yards of black drapery was Mrs Crump. His heart sank as she saw him and beckoned to him flirtatiously.

.

* * *

 

Harry noticed Dudley by the lych gate and nodded at him. Julia looked in the same direction and waved. `

“Your cousin?” she asked.

Sirius turned round. “Harry? That’s not the Dursley boy is it?” His face hardened as he looked at the young policeman.

“Sirius,” said Julia, taking his hand. “Harry and Dudley are both grown men now. People change. You aren’t the boy you were. Nor is Harry. Nor is Dudley. Harry doesn’t need you to fight his battles anymore.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I need to have a word with Sandra about the refreshments.” She started walking down the path towards the road, where several residents from the nursing home were being helped into a minibus.

 “I didn’t expect to see you here, Sirius, to be honest,” said Harry. You didn’t know Eileen, did you? I know there was no love lost between you and Severus.”

“No.” Sirius sounded noncommittal. “Well, I thought I’d show willing. Take part in village life and so on. Anyway, it’s about the only time I get to see Julia wearing a skirt.”

Sirius looked distracted and Harry followed his gaze to where it rested on Julia’s behind, which was swaying as she walked, due to the high heels she was wearing.

“See you later, Harry,” said Sirius and hurried to catch up with her. Harry saw Sirius’s hand rest proprietorially on Julia’s bottom.  Speculatively, he slid his own arm around Ginny’s waist and allowed his hand to sneak a few inches south.

He cast a sidelong glance at her and she seemed quite pleased, so he slid his hand lower and leaned into her, whispering, “Let’s go home for an hour or two before we collect the children from your mum’s.”

Ginny smiled at no one in particular and her cheeks went pink. Harry thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

 

* * *

 

 

Back at work after a few days away, Harry found his office, and in particular his desk, so tidy, that for a split second he thought he had come into the wrong room. His in-tray was almost empty, and neatly aligned in the middle of the desk were several papers waiting to be signed. Beside them was a roll of parchment. He unrolled it and ran his eyes over the summary of the previous week’s Wizengamot hearing, and the sentencing of Goyle, Lovegood and Prince.  Something was missing. He read it again, more carefully.

Thoughtfully, he signed the papers and collected them together, tucked the parchment roll under his arm, then headed for the Minister’s office. He deposited the papers on Percy’s desk, and went in to see Kingsley.

“Ah, Harry,” Kingsley shook his hand and waved him into a seat. “Good to see you! I was about to send a memo. I’m calling a meeting of all the department heads and several representatives of the Wizengamot next week to discuss our long-term strategy. Percy and Hermione are going to make a presentation with a set of preliminary recommendations.”

“Sounds riveting,” said Harry drily. “But whatever Hermione says, I think we should just do it, don’t you?” Harry put the parchment on Kingsley’s desk. “I came to ask about this. Goyle, Prince and Lovegood?”

“So, what do you want to know?” Kingsley unrolled the parchment.  “Goyle will probably spend a year or so in Azkaban. He’s not considered to have been instrumental in the plot. Not bright enough to do more than follow orders. He seems to have settled back into institutional life quite seamlessly.”

“He told me he liked it there,” said Harry.

“ _Liked_ it in Azkaban?”

Harry nodded.

“There is something wrong with our society, when we offer less in the way of support to our citizens than the house of correction does, don’t you think?” Kingsley mused.

Harry did not know what he thought anymore. “But what’s this about Erasmus then?” he said. “He’s certainly bright enough, but this says he is expected to be released in six months! That can’t be right!”

“Erasmus will be out of Azkaban under very strict conditions,” Kingsley said. “Hector has taken responsibility for him. Poor old Hector wants to retire and Erasmus is the only candidate with even a fraction of the knowledge required to take the position. He will spend the rest of his life under close Ministry supervision, but the prospect does not seem to concern him greatly. He wishes to rebuild the machine. It will take him years.”

“Blimey! We can’t let him do that, Kingsley!”

“Of course we can!”

“Kingsley, no!” Harry protested.

“Harry, you must learn to take a wider view. Do you not think it would be more sensible for us to understand the principles upon which the mechanism operates? Don’t forget that there is another one in existence. One over which we have no control.”

“But surely we don’t want anyone to get it working again?”

“Not much danger of that,” said Kingsley, reaching into his robe for something. He held out a corroded metal disc still attached to a fine chain.

Harry laughed. “How did-?”

Kingsley grinned. “Myklos gave it to Julia, who gave it to me. I think we should put it somewhere safe, don’t you?”

“So what about Marcus Lovegood?” said Harry. “He was one of the ringleaders, wasn’t he? Sentenced to five years?”

“A young man,” said Kingsley. “Highly intelligent. Idealistic. He’s already been appointed as the prisoners’ representative and has started to run several educational classes for the other inmates. I understand they are proving very popular.”

Harry snorted. “But Marcus wasn’t the main instigator, was he? He didn’t run the show, Winky did! But there’s no mention of her in this at all!” he tapped the parchment.

Kingsley inclined his head. “No. Winky is an exceptional case, and we decided to take a more progressive approach. Hermione has expended a great deal of consideration on this matter and spoken to me about it at length. In her opinion, whether free or not, a house-elf needs purpose. Without that, they descend into melancholy or madness. You have seen that for yourself, have you not?  According to Hermione, however misplaced her energies, Winky should be commended for her determination and initiative. Those are unusual qualities in an elf.”

“Right. So where is Winky now, Kingsley?”

“Oh, she’s in Azkaban.”

Harry bit his lip. “I see. How long will she be there?”

“Indefinitely, I hope.”

Uneasily, Harry said, “Kingsley, I know she did some bad things, but don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?”

Kingsley raised his eyebrows. “I think you misunderstand, Harry. Have you got an hour?”

Harry shrugged. “Sure.”

.

.

To Muggles, the great offshore prison of Azkaban appeared to be nothing more than a massive rock rising bare from the grey waves of the North Sea, the dull black of its scarred cliffs alleviated only by the white crust of a thousand years of bird droppings. In the choppy waters around it, the currents ran fast and unpredictable, and spikes of rock broke the foaming surface like teeth in the jaws of a submerged monster lying in wait for unwary sailors.

Harry pulled his hat lower over his ears against the biting wind. Rain spattered against the immense timber doors that broke the monotony of the otherwise featureless stone walls. Set into the base of one of the giant-sized doors was another, more human-sized one. Kingsley rapped on it smartly with the thicker end of his wand. After several seconds, a hatch in the centre slid open with a squeak, and an eye peered out.

“Yes?”

“The Minister of Magic and the Head Auror.”

They heard a number of locks and bolts being noisily unfastened, and the door was opened by a skinny man with stringy grey hair and a sour expression. “You may enter,” he said, standing aside.

Beyond the door was a sparsely furnished reception area with a single table and chair and a framework of pigeonhole-type shelves on the wall behind.  

Harry had been there before, of course. On the infrequent occasions he had made brief and reluctant visits to the prison in the past, the interior had smelled mostly of decay and the bird droppings that littered the stone floors. The atmosphere of despair had been tangible and there had always been, somewhere in the distance, the sound of shouting. Now it was very quiet, the floor was clean, and the air carried a lingering smell of fresh paint.

The doorkeeper seated himself on the chair, took a quill from behind his ear and pulled a large ledger towards him. “Names, please.”

Harry stared. “Er . . .  I’m Head Auror, and this is the Minister of Magic!”

“I know you are, Mr Potter,” said the doorkeeper, patiently. He poised his quill on the page again. “Names?”

Abashed, Harry said, “Harry Potter and Kingsley Shacklebolt.” He squinted sideways at Kingsley, who wore a faint smile.

“Thank you,” said the man, closing his book. He held out his hand. “Wands, please.”

“What?” said Harry. “But I’m –”

“The Head Auror. So you said. No wands allowed beyond this point.”

Dazed, Harry handed over his wand. The attendant held an expectant hand out to Kingsley, who did the same. The man deposited each wand into a separate pigeonhole on the wall behind him and issued Harry and Kingsley each with a numbered ticket. “Take care not to lose your tickets, gentlemen,” he advised. “No wand may be reclaimed without the correct documentation.”

Harry studied the shelves. All the other pigeonholes were empty.

“Now then, gentlemen,” the doorkeeper came round the table to them. “How can I assist you today?”

“We would like to speak with the governor, please,” said Kingsley.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Ah, no, I’m afraid not.”

The man shook his head sadly, sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth. “The Governor is a very busy person. Very busy indeed! Anybody can’t just come swanning in here willy-nilly, expecting to see the Governor!”

“But –” Harry said, “I’m the –”

“The Head Auror. So you said. Twice.”

Kingsley interjected. “Perhaps you could go and find out if the Governor can see us?”

The man tutted. “Very well. I make no promises!”

“Of course not,” muttered Harry when the man had left.

The doorkeeper returned in something less than a minute, looking slightly disgruntled. “Follow me, if you please, gentlemen!”

He led them down a long, whitewashed corridor to a freshly painted door with the word _Governor_ written on it in large white letters. The doorkeeper rapped at the door and a muffled voice answered from within. Harry and Kingsley entered, and the man closed the door behind them.

Harry was speechless. On the other side of the huge desk sat a tiny figure with large, watery eyes and bat-like ears.

“Good morning, Auror Potter, Minister Shacklebolt.”

“ _Winky?”_

 “You will be calling me ‘Governor Winky’ now, if you pleases, Auror Potter,” said the diminutive creature firmly, hopping up to stand on the chair. She was wearing a smart and very small black uniform with gold epaulettes on the narrow shoulders. Perched between her ears was a peaked cap with a shiny badge at the front. She stood to attention and saluted.

Solemnly, Kingsley reciprocated and nudged Harry to do the same.

“I trusts you is finding everything to be in order, gentlemen?” asked Winky. “We has been introducing a number of improvements. I is expecting you wants to see how the new inmates is getting on? You will be finding prisoner Goyle painting the new gymnasium, and prisoner Prince repairing the clock in the prison tower. Does you wish to see the registers, sirs?”

“Do you, Harry?” asked Kingsley.

Harry recoiled. “Merlin, no! No, thank you, W – Governor Winky.”

“Then perhaps you is wishing to inspect our new prisoner education programme? You will be finding prisoner Lovegood taking a literature class. Today, his students is examining the works of John Milton. I understands they is studying a poem called _Paradise Lost_. Does you wish to monitor the class?”

Harry was flabbergasted and could not think of anything that appealed less. “Ah, I don’t think that will be necessary. Everything seems perfectly in order. Yes, absolutely! Keep up the good work!  Ah, Kingsley,” he floundered, “I believe we have to be getting back now.”

Kingsley had abandoned any attempt to hide his amusement and was grinning broadly at Harry’s discomfiture.

They returned to the reception room and retrieved their wands from the doorkeeper, who once again insisted on them stating their names and presenting their numbered tickets. He unfastened the door and held it open as they went outside. When it had been solidly locked behind them, Harry looked at Kingsley, who shrugged, looking guileless.

“Hermione’s idea.”

“Bloody hell.” Harry pulled his collar up around his chin and looked back at the dark, forbidding building behind them. “Hermione. She’s a genius. Did I ever tell you that?”

Laughing, Kingsley slapped Harry on the back. “You may have done,” he said. “Come on. Back to the Ministry; we’ve got work to do!”

.

* * *

 

.

.

Deep below the government offices of Whitehall and the foundations of medieval abbeys, Saxon churches, and Roman temples, the Tube, and the lost rivers of London, is the Ministry of Magic. It is the place where the forefathers of the wizard race hid the Veil.

It is a place where both mysteries and answers may be found by those who know how to look and those who know what questions to ask.

 

_._

_Mischief Managed._

_Equity restored._

 


End file.
